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Princess Ilse, 


p. ^TORY OF THE j^ARZ ^VloUNTAINS. 


The Will-o’-the-Wisps. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, 



BOSTON : 

J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY. 

1868. 





Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
J. E. TILTON & COMPANY, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 

Gift 

W. L. Sljioeniaker 
7 S »06 




Stereotyped by C. J. Peters & Son. 


Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery. 


THE STORY TO THE READER, 


Dear Reader, — 

I beg you above all things not to confound me with the 
tradition of the beautiful Princess Use, who, with her treasures 
and castle, sank long, long years ago, beneath the Ilsen-stone ; 
and who, in the early morning hours, still rises to bathe in the 
fountain, as your guide will tell you, when, on a sure-footed 
donkey, you have ridden up over the Ilsenburg Schlossberg to 
the beautiful cliffs which bear the name of the princess, and 
of the stream which flows through the valley. 

I am not the Legend ; am only the plain, simple little Story, 
without title to your favor, dear reader ; and can neither sup- 
port myself by tradition, nor lay any claim to the advantages 
of nationality so highly prized in these days. 

The Legend is a distant cousin of mine, much more distin- 
guished than myself; and her relationship with me and my 
equals has always displeased her. Since, very recently, the 
high honor has again been done her of having her likeness 

portrayed on the walls of a magnificent temple of art by a 

3 


4 


THE STORY TO THE READER. 


man blessed of God, — the greatest master of this century, and 
of many centuries, — she will not even give me a glance. If 
you, dear reader, dwell perchance in that splendid capital, or 
have been there, where a noble, art-loving king is erecting that 
temple, you cannot have missed seeing, what no one fails to 
see, the wonderful work in progress ; and will thus know, too, 
my distant cousin, — how she sits there, listening to the ravens 
shrieking in her ears, and with her staff rakes among mould and 
ruins, bringing to light men’s bones, crowns, and ancient weap- 
ons. She needs such curiosities to establish her rank among 
men, to prove her veracity and old nobility. I can do nothing 
of the sort ; am not noble, not even authentic : and yet it would 
cause me bitter grief, if you, dear reader, should chide me as 
a little liar. I would so gladly tell you the truth ! and do take 
all pains ; but as I am a little vagrant, without any cultivation, 
even without the most ordinary education, how can I be clever ? 
Then, too, you must pardon me, dear reader, if I am not very 
historical, and make all sorts of mistakes, geographical, geologi- 
cal, and chronological. I have learned nothing ; consequently 
can give no information. How it looked just after the Deluge 
in the German fatherland, I have heard from the Stones, that 
assert that they were there at the time ; and since neither you 
nor I were there, dear reader, nor anybody else, who might 
have written an account of matters, we may as well, for once, 
believe the statement of the Stones, 


THE STORY TO THE READER. 


5 


I run through the country, looking round : and where a 
flower, an old ruin, a field, or a tree, pleases me, I give a rap, 
saying, “ Oh ! tell me about your life ; ” and then I sit down, and 
fall asleep, and in dreams there glide before me pictures in all 
sorts of colors, as I sketch them for you here. Before falling 
asleep^ I pray fervently to the blessed Lord God : therefore, per- 
haps, sometimes a few grains of truth drop into my airy web. 
And it will please me most of all, dear reader, if you can find 
any to-day in Little Use ; but I am unable to do any thing to 
further this, and can answer for nothing. I am a stupid little 
thing ; and therefore, dear reader, neither call me to account, 
nor question me ; for I have no answer for wise people. 
Put up with me as I am. On your good opinion, dear reader, 
much depends : therefore, if possible, like me a little. 

With esteem, and in all humility. 


Your Faithful Story. 




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PEINCESS ILSE. 


There was fearful confusion among the waters 
at the Deluge, when they had all rushed together, 
overflowing the mountains, and rolling their wild 
waves over the highest peaks ; and when, finally, 
the Lord took pity on the poor earth, caused 
heaven’s bright light to cleave the gray cloud- 
curtain, and commanded the waters to separate, 
and seek their homeward way in the valleys, 
neither brooks nor streams might have found their 
old beds, had not bands of good angels descended 
to the earth, and carefully guided them in the 
right paths. 

As long lines of high mountain-chains peered 
forth from the flood, angels alighted on their 
crests, and on all sides slowly descended to the val- 


7 


8 


PEmCESS ILSE. 


leys, driving the waters before them ; and, as they 
came lower and lower, they ordered the courses of 
brooks and streams, marked out the ocean’s limits, 
and bound the lakes fast in jagged, rocky chains, 
or green girdles of forest and meadow. With 
broad fans, and brooms of sunbeams, they then 
worked away on the wet earth, so busily brushing 
the mire from the grass, and drying the heavy 
foliage of the trees, that the great mist-dust which 
they raised hung like vapor-veils in the clefts of 
the mountains. 

The work had lasted many days, and was near 
an end, as a weary angel sat resting on one of 
the highest peaks of the Alps. There he had an 
extensive view, north and south, east and west ; 
and gazed thoughtfully down on the green earth, 
which had come forth so fresh and charming from 
its great bath of purification. “ How lovely it is ! ” 
he thought ; “ how shining in its purity ! But' will 
it keep itself so spotless ? Will the wretchedness 
and stains of guilt which have been washed away 
by so many waters never more appear ? Will Sin 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


9 


never again press her black fingers on the bloom- 
ing face of the purified earth The breast of 
the good angel heaved with an anxious, foreboding 
sigh ; and he turned his dazzled eye from the 
morning sun, which, blood-red, rose flaming above 
the horizon. He looked long in the direction 
where the German streams had flowed down, and 
saw them gliding away in the distance, — the prin- 
cipal currents far ahead, the lesser following, and 
a whole troop of satellites, little brooks and rivu- 
lets, merrily hastening in their train. 

The angel rejoiced that they were so carefully 
guided ; that all confusion was at an end ; and that 
no little stream was too small and insignificant to 
have an angel near, always showing the right path, 
when, loitering and doubtful, it turned aside, and 
carefully guarding, when, quite too awkward and 
heedless, it dashed over some rocky cliff. He saw 
the merry Rhine, crowned with a rich vine-wreath, 
hurrying restlessly along; and fancied he heard 
in the distance the shout of joy with which he 
greeted his dear Moselle, as blushing she joined 


10 


PBmCESS ILSE. 


him, her tresses, too, twined with a chaplet of vine- 
leaves. 

Farther and farther off glided the waters. Their 
roar and their din died away in the distance, and 
another sound suddenly struck on the ear of the 
lonely angel on the Alpine peak. It was a low, sor- 
rowful weeping and splashing very near him ; and 
as he rose, and stepped behind the crag whence 
the noise proceeded, he discovered a little Foun- 
tain enveloped in a white veil, lying on the 
ground, and sobbing bitterly. Compassionately 
he bent over her ; and as he raised her, and lifted 
the veil, he saw at once that it was little Use, 
whose green bed was ready for her far below 
among the valleys of the Harz. “ Poor child ! ” 
said the good angel : “ have you been obliged to 
stay up here alone on the bleak mountain ? Have 
all the others gone, and no one thought of carrying 
you ? Little Use tossed her head, and said very 
pertly, I have not been forgotten at all. Long 
enough old Weser waited and beckoned, and called 
me to go with her ; and Ecker and Ocker wanted 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


11 


to seize me; but I did not choose to accompany 
them : nothing would have induced me, even if I 
am to pine away here. Should I descend to the 
valleys, and flow through the plains, like a common 
brook, rendering the vilest services, giving sheep 
and cows their water, and washing their coarse 
feet? — I, Princess Use ! Look at me, and see if I 
have not sprung from the noblest lineage. Light 
is my father ; the clear air, my mother ; my brother 
is the diamond; and the dew-pearl in the roses’ bed, 
my dear little sister. The waves of the flood have 
borne me hither, and I have dared to dash over 
the snowy peaks of the most ancient mountains; 
and the flrst sunbeam which rifted the clouds em- 
broidered my robe with spangles. I am a princess 
of the purest water, and cannot, indeed, descend 
to the valleys. I preferred to hide myself, and 
pretended to be asleep; and old Weser, with the 
stupid brooks that know nothing better to do 
than run into her arms, grumbling, was Anally 
obliged to depart.” 

The angel shook his head sorrowfully at the 


12 


PEINCES8 ILSE. 


long speech of little Use, and looked very ear- 
nestly and searchingly at her pale face ; and as he 
gazed long and fixedly into the open, blue, child- 
like eyes, which were then flashing with bright, 
angry sparks, he saw in their clear depths dark 
spots moving, and knew that an evil guest was 
busy in little Use’s head, which, indeed, the spirit 
of pride had entered ; and, having driven out all 
pious thoughts, it stared tauntingly through the 
eyes of poor little Use at the good angel. This 
little devil of pride had turned the heads of many 
foolish children, even if they were not exactly 
princesses of the purest water; and the compas- 
sionate angel, who perceived the danger of the 
poor little Fountain, wished to save her at any 
cost. 

In his eyes, which could see to such a depth. 
Princess Use was nothing but a naughty child; 
and therefore he did not call her “ Serene High- 
ness,” or “ Highness,” but, very simply, ^^Dear Use.” 

Dear Use.,'” thus spoke the angel, if you have 
staid up here from choice, thinking it much be- 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


13 


Death your dignity to descend to the plains with 
the other streams, you must be quite contented 
here j and I do not at all understand why you are 
behaving in this way, weeping and lamenting.^^ 

Oh ! replied Child Use, when the waters were 
gone, dear angel, then came the Storm-wind here 
to sweep the mountains ; and, finding me, he began 
to rage. He scolded and blustered and brawled ; 
shook me ; and wished to hurl me from that cliff 
into a deep, black abyss, where there is never a 
gleam of daylight. I prayed and wept, and, trem- 
bling, pressed against these rocky peaks ; and 
finally succeeded in tearing myself from his power- 
ful arms, and in hiding myself in this stony cleft.” 

You will not always be so fortunate,” said the 
angel ; for the Storm-wind keeps strict order up 
here, and carries a good broom : so you must see, 
dear Use, that you were foolish to stay here alone, 
and will follow me willingly, if I lead you to good 
old Weser and your young companions.” 

“ On no account ! ” cried little Use. “ I remain 
up here : I am the princess I ” 


14 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


Ilse/^ said the angel in his low, gentle voice, 
“ dear little Use, I am kind to yon ; and you will 
care for me a little, and be a good child. Do you 
see that white morning-cloud sailing along the blue 
heavens ? I will summon it to float hither, and we 
will both get into it. You shall lie on its white 
cushions ; I will sit near you ; and then the cloud 
will speedily bear us below to the quiet valleys, 
where the other streams glide. And then I will 
put you in your little green bed, and stay with 
you, giving you lovely dreams, and telling you 
stories.’^ 

But Princess Use was incorrigibly obstinate; 
crying, always more perversely and passionately, 
“No, no! I will not go down: I do not choose to 
descend.’’ And as the angel drew nearer, and with 
gentle force tried to take her in his arms, she 
struck at him, splashing water in his face. 

Sorrowfully the angel seated himself on the 
ground; and Princess Stubborn-head crept back 
into her rocky cleft, rejoicing that she had shown 
so much character. To the angel, who still ap- 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


15 


preached her several times, trying to persuade 
her to accompany him, she gave short refusals. 

As the good angel finally saw, that, notwith- 
standing his love, he had lost all influence over 
little Use, and that the Devil of Pride held all 
her thoughts prisoners, he turned, sighing, from the 
lost child, and sought his companions, who were 
still busily at work in the valleys. 

But Princess Use, once more alone on the Alpine 
height, wished now to enjoy her sovereignty. 
She came forth from the crevice in the rock ; seated 
herself on a projecting crag; spread out her misty 
dress in broad folds ; and waited to see if the other 
mountains would not do her homage, and if the 
clouds would not float thither, and kiss her robe. 
But nothing of the sort happened, however digni- 
fied an air her little Highness assumed. At last 
she grew weary of this long sitting, and began to 
feel terribly bored, and sighed to herself gently, 
I would not have objected to a little ennui ^ that 
belongs to my station ; but so fearfully much of it 
even a princess need not endure.’^ As it was now 


16 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


evening, the sun had set, and there sounded again 
in the distance the roar of the coming Storm- 
wind. Then the poor little Fountain shed once 
more hot tears of anguish; and though she took 
great pride in her firmness, and rejoiced that she 
had not followed the angel, still this sweet self- 
complacency could not conquer her dread of the 
Storm-wind. 

It grew darker and darker; heavy, stupefying 
vapors ascended from the abyss ; in the depths, dull 
thunder rolled ; and little Use thought she must die 
of a nameless horror: she was almost suffocated 
by the hot, murky air which suddenly blew 
towards her. All at once, a pale ray of light 
glimmered through the thick darkness ; and, as the 
little Fountain looked up terrified, there was stand- 
ing before her a tall, dark man, enveloped in a 
broad red mantle, who bowed low, and accosted 
her as “ Most gracious princess.’^ 

Such a salutation was sweet music in little Use's 
ears ; and she overcame her fear of the strange, 
mysterious figure, and listened to the enticing 
words with which he addressed her. 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


17 


The dark man said he had long been near her ; 
had listened to her conversation with the angel ; 
and rejoiced that she had dismissed him with such 
contempt. He could not understand how any one 
could wish to drag down to the mean earth, and 
bury in dark valleys, so much grace and beauty, 
such a wonderfully charming princess. He told 
her of the brilliant future awaiting her, if she 
would allow him to serve her ; spoke of his delight- 
ful country-seat on one of the highest and most 
beautiful mountains of Germany. Thither he 
wished to carry her, and to surround her with a 
brilliant court, and all the splendor and magnifi- 
cence which befitted her proud rank: there in joy 
and pleasure she should be throned, exalted far 
above all the earth’s rivers and rivulets. 

Use’s little heart beat high in joyful excitement 
at all these fine promises ; and as the man opened 
his mantle, and drew forth a broad golden vase, 
whose beautifully-wrought pedestal was set with 
sparkling gems, and placed this vase before her, 
asking the lovely princess to seat herself therein, 


2 


18 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


that he might bear her to his charming Brocken- 
berg, where countless servants were already pre- 
paring for her splendid feteSj all thought and 
consideration were at an end with her little High- 
ness. In joyful haste, she sprang with both feet at 
once into the golden chalice, her spray dashing up, 
two drops of which fell on the hand of the dark 
man, where, hissing, they evaporated ; while a 
burning pain shot through little Use’s limbs. 

Terrified, the poor child grasped the edge of the 
vase, as if she would swing herself out immedi- 
ately, and looked up fearfully at the face of the 
man, who laughed, seized the vase with a powerful 
hand, and bid the Storm-wind rush on before, so 
that little Use need not fear that he would overtake 
her. Then, swift as an arrow, they shot through 
the air. And the little Fountain, as all pain had 
quickly passed away, grew calm, and patiently suf- 
fered herself to be borne along, not suspecting that 
she had given herself to the Devil when she em- 
barked on the sparkling little vessel he offered 
her ; though she was perhaps a little bit anxious as 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


19 


they whizzed through the black night. .And, when 
the vase grew unsteady from the violent motion, 
little Use trembled, and nestled flat in its shining 
bottom, drew her robes close round her, and took 
care not to lose one little drop, now she knew full 
well what agony that caused. 

The night grew clear, and the moon was slowly 
rising as they reached the Brocken. Wild jubilees, 
shouts, and fifes resounded towards them ; while a 
throng of extraordinary figures wound in and out 
in motley confusion. But the lord of the Brocken 
commanded silence, and, placing the vase with Use 
on a great fiat stone as a throne, ordered his 
merry vassals to form a broad circle round her, 
and pay their homage to the water-princess. 

This was a blissful moment for little Use, who 
felt herself at last in the right place. Proudly she 
rose, a slender jet of water, and shot up on high in 
the golden vase with dignity and grace ; bowed 
graciously on all sides; and bent her little head 
half bashfully as a loud Oh ! of admiration 
echoed round the circle. This was no time, how- 


20 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


ever, for the Ilsen child to be humble, with the 
spirit of pride in her head. Sweet, intoxicating 
music resounded; and the enraptured little prin- 
cess, dancing and bubbling, sprang up and down in 
the bright vase, raising and bending her curly little 
head, and raining clear pearl-drops back into the 
chalice with a pattering sound. The good full 
Moon, who is not very scrupulous, but shines on all 
beneath her, good or bad, could not forbear crown- 
ing the vain child with a lovely little diadem of 
sparkling silver stars ; and her broad mouth grew 
even broader with heartfelt pleasure as the sweet 
little one, smiling gratefully, looked up, and nod- 
ded to her. 

Not every eye in the DeviPs court gazed mean- 
time with rapture and astonishment on dancing 
little Use. There were many vain young witches 
in the company, who considered themselves the 
loveliest and most charming princesses, and saw 
only with bitter envy and anger another so 
highly honored. Two of these bold young witches 
stepped very close to the golden vase, scoffing at 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


21 


and insulting little Use to her face. That fhing 
dances, turns round, and makes itself lovely,’^ said 
one ; “ and yet it is so thin and weak, that one could 
blow right through it. I only wish to know how 
the pale beauty would behave should she dance 
with the Storm-wind, and he should whirl her 
round as he does us.’^ ^‘Pitifully,” replied the 
other, and shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. 
“ She will never learn to ride properly on a broom- 
stick. But do you hear how they are beating the 
kettle-drums and striking the cymbals over yon- 
der ? Now we will dance a merry round, grinding 
the ground, and rooting out a deep marsh where 
bright Use shall dwell. Then all her glory will 
be at an end, and she must become our obedient 
servant, Princess Cooking-water. 

Little Use’s love of dancing vanished at the 
young witches’ angry speech, all of which she had 
heard. She sat quite still again in the bottom of 
the vase ; saw all the wild figures going towards 
the other side of the mountain, and arranging 
themselves for the dance ,* and wondered what the 


22 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


jeering words of the wicked hags could really 
mean. The taunt about the Storm-wind had 
certainly vexed her deeply ; but what she thought 
most about were the bog and Princess Cooking- 
water. But nobody had yet called her Princess 
Cooking-water ; and she who was to hold sway 
here could not possibly wait on witches. She 
thought of asking information from the lord of the 
Brocken, who, just then, was coming towards her ; 
but, before her words were ready, he was standing 
by her, and dipped his finger into the golden vase, 
so that little Use quivered with agony. But the 
Devil laughed again, saying, The night is fresh, 
most gracious princess : you are very cold already, 
and must really freeze in this shallow vase. I 
have a swinging-bed by the fire yonder prepared 
for you, in which you may rest and get warm. If 
you will turn your shining head the other way, 
you will see that the old cook, the reigning mistress 
of my kitchen, is busily poking the fire, and put- 
ting pretty playthings in your bed, so that the 
time shall not seem long. Come, let me carry you 
there.^^ 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


23 


Little Use looked the other side, and saw that a 
deep brass kettle was hanging over a cheerful fire, 
which, flaring, blazed up from the ground. The 
old woman who stood near it was so horrible and 
frightful to behold, and the toys which she threw 
into the kettle so extraordinary, that little Use, 
who had become somewhat suspicious, would not 
allow herself to be borne thither immediately, but 
said she would rather for a little while see the 
dance : she liked the cold very much, and sat here 
in her golden vase as high and as comfortable as 
if she were on a balcony ; was far enough off not to 
be troubled by the dust ; and yet could overlook 
every thing, and amuse herself charmingly. The 
Devil said, as he did not wish to destroy her 
pleasure, he would return for her in an hour ; and 
then he departed too, to join the dancers. 

But the little princess’ pleasure gradually be- 
came very slight as she sat there alone, looking, 
now at the wild, horrible group of dancers ; now at 
the fire and caldron, into which the old woman, as 
she now plainly saw, was throwing loathsome 


24 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


creatures, — spiders and toads and serpents and 
lizards ; bats, which she caught in the air as they 
flew round the flame, breaking their wings before 
she hurled them, with wild gestures, into the cal- 
dron. Fearful horror of the wicked company in 
which she found herself overcame little Isle ; and 
as she thought that she would have to go into the 
kettle yonder, and get warm, then what the witches 
had meant when they insulted, and called her 
Princess Cooking-water, at once became clear. In 
terrible death-anguish, she pressed her delicate 
hands together, seized her veil, and drew it to her 
pale face, merely to stifle the shriek which burst 
from her agonized breast. “ Oh,” she sighed with 
tears, I wish I had followed the angel ! he in- 
tended my good.” As she looked round in de- 
spair, and saw that she had been left entirely alone 
on this side of the mountain, that all the witches 
and devils were dancing, or crowding round the 
fire on the other, there suddenly came into her 
head the idea of escaping. “ Away, away ! ” she 
whispered, anywhere.” Quickly as the thought 


PRmCESS ILSE. 


25 


had arisen, she seated herself on the edge of the 
vase ; let her little white feet and transparent 
robes hang over it ; and, still holding on fast with 
both hands, looked back anxiously to see if any 
one was noticing her. 

But no one was heeding the little princess : only 
the good old Moon stood on high, smiling un- 
changed upon her. She looked up at her with 
tearful eyes, so childlike and imploringly, laying 
her little finger on her mouth, that she really could 
not have found it in her heart to betray her, even 
if any one had asked her where little Use was. 
Use, seeing that she was entirely unnoticed, let go 
her hold, and wished to glide down to the ground 
very gently and quietly: but the vase was high, 
the granite block on which it stood still higher; 
and, even with all the care the little one took, there 
was a slight splash as she reached the ground. 
In great fear that some one might hear her, 
she slipped nimbly under the large stones. She 
had discreetly taken off her diadem of stars, and 
left it lying in the vase. Pride had brought her 


26 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


little pleasure, and nothing depended now on being 
a princess : the only thing was to escape very 
quietly and unseen. 

Trembling, the little Fountain nestled between 
the stones, and prayed that they would protect her; 
and the old Stones, that had never felt before such 
young, throbbing life against their hard breasts, 
were greatly touched, and pressed against each 
other close around the princess, so that no eye 
could spy her, not even the Moon^s. Then they 
showed her a little fissure in the ground ; and so 
she made herself slender, and slipped in, and found 
in the soft earth-cushion, which on that side cov- 
ered the mountain’s rocky skeleton, a long pas- 
sage, which some little field-mouse might once have 
made. There little Use groped along in the dark- 
ness, and felt that the channel gradually led down 
the mountain. She had glided gently some dis- 
tance, when the path became wider and uneven. 
It seemed to wind among loose masses of rock; 
and some stones, starting beneath her feet, rolled 
down the mountain before her. On she flowed in 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


27 


the thick darkness. Now and then a keen breath 
of air struck upon her, forcing its way through the 
stones; and as the path, after descending more 
suddenly and steeply, seemed to stop, the rocks 
opened above her, and she saw the clear night sky, 
and a few little stars shedding a faint ray of light, 
and showing her stones, great and small, in the 
wildest confusion, over which no way was visible. 
At this very instant, the wild music, the screeches, 
and the fifes of the dancing witches of the Brock- 
enberg, sounded in her ear ; and little Use, who had 
loitered for a moment, not knowing whither to 
direct her course, driven by wild terror at these 
sounds, dashed on, springing and rushing over the 
stones in breathless haste. She heeded not, if, on 
all sides, she flew against hard pieces of rock, 
striking her little head, and tearing her dress. 

Away, away,” she whispered, far away, where 
the Prince of the Brocken and his wild bands can- 
not spy me ! ” The first faint streaks of morning 
light caused her great anxiety. ‘‘ Night is still,” 
she thought, “and does not betray me ; but gossip- 


28 


PE IN CESS ILSE. 


ing Day will soon chatter out where I have run.^^ 
So she stooped and glided, bowed beneath the 
Stones, only coming forth now and then to get a lit- 
tle draught of morning air. 

Between high forest-clothed mountain-ridges, a 
deep, dark-green ravine gradually descended to 
the valley ; and into this had little Use blindly 
rushed. Innumerable Stones, crumbling from the 
mountains, had rolled over each other to the bot- 
tom of the ravine, where they lay grasped by 
the roots of fir-trees : overgrown with moss, they 
looked very dark and dignified, and did not seem 
to intend to get out of the way of the little Stream 
which so thoughtlessly and hastily came springing 
upon them. The blessed Lord God had taken pity 
on poor little Use, as, chased by terror, she flew 
over the Stones ; and had permitted the forest to 
open its green doors, and take her under its pro- 
tection. The forest is a holy place of refuge for 
erring children who have thought or done some- 
thing wicked in the world without. None of the 
little devils who take possession of young souls 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


29 


can enter with them the wood^s peaceful calm. 
The little Devil of Pride is the first to remain out- 
side; and how could he appear before the stern 
majesty of the Forest-king, the Fir-tree, who pre- 
sumes not on the power and glory which God has 
given him, and who, his towering head steadfastly 
raised towards heaven, while storms roar round 
him, stands firm and unchanging on the spot where 
the Lord has placed him ? Dying, he may break, 
but will never bend, — so true a king by God’s 
grace. 

This, indeed. Child Use did not yet understand. 
She thought the Fir-roots made ugly faces at 
her, and slipped over them with fear, flying 
deeper and deeper along the forest. That the 
Spirit of Pride had quietly left her as she rushed 
down the mountain, flying from the Devil and his 
witches, and that he had swum off in the tears of 
anguish and remorse she had shed, little Use did 
not know, any more than she had been aware in 
her giddiness that the Devil had entered into her; 
but she felt freer and safer in the green forest- 


30 


phincess ilse. 


shades, behind the golden network which the sun- 
beams, falling obliquely, cast on the turf. The 
farther she glided from the Brocken, the calmer 
and happier became her spirit. The Firs, she 
thought, did not look down so dark or so reprov- 
ingly upon her as they did higher up : and soon 
stately, dignified Oaks spread their powerful arms 
protectingly over her ; and light, lovely Beeches, 
thronged among the black Firs, nodded to her in a 
friendly way, and tried, with outstretched boughs, 
to catch the sunbeams, and throw them like golden 
arrows to each other. Little Ilse, who, child-like, 
had soon forgotten her grief, ran merrily splashing 
among them; and when, in their frolicsome game, a 
sunbeam fell to the ground, she caught it up, and, 
rejoicing, held it on high, or pinned her veil fast 
with it afterwards, as she sprang on, teasingly 
tossing the beam to the Flowers and Grasses, which, 
inquisitive, were standing near her path, and gaz- 
ing after her. She was once, more a careless, 
happy child ; and the green forest had its pleasure 
in the little fugitive to whom it had given pro- 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


31 


tection. For the large and small Stones, which, 
dreaming, lay on the ground, wrapped in their 
soft mossy coverlets, every quiet thought was 
surely at an end, since little Use, dancing and 
bubbling, sprang over them ; yet were they her 
good friends. When the heaviest and clumsiest 
awkwardly placed themselves in her way, and 
would not let her pass, she stroked the rough 
cheeks of the old Stones, and murmured sweet 
prayers in their ears; and, when all this availed 
nothing, she grew petulant, stamping her little 
foot impatiently, and dashed against them with 
so much force, that the old churls staggered. If 
only the smallest rift appeared, in rushed little Use 
with all her strength, separating the lazy Stones, 
and shooting wildly and madly by them. Where 
the ravine descended very steeply and abruptly, it 
was charming to see how the little princess sprang 
gracefully splashing from cliff to cliff. She had 
put on, too, a soft, white foam-cap; and, when this 
was torn and ruined by one rocky crag, she had, 
by the time she reached the next, a new one at 


32 


FKINCESS ILSE. 


hand, fresh-ruffled, and white as Alpine snow. On 
many sunny declivities of the mountains, where 
very soft grass and moss grew luxuriantly, and the 
great trees had separated, making room for their 
little ones that stood there in troops, growing, and 
learning how to become trees, there sat the young 
Fir Children on the ground. They had spread their 
stiff little green coats bunchily round them on the 
sward, and moved their pointed heads thoughtfully 
hither and thither, wondering that little Use was 
not very weary of running and springing. But the 
youngest Fountains, which had scarcely learned 
to glide, were not so full of wisdom as the Fir 
Children. Hearing little Use murmuring her sweet 
song, they came dripping from the rocky rifts of 
the mountain-walls, and crept stealthily through 
the moss, nearer and nearer to Use, who, indeed, 
had heard their gentle rippling, saw them coming, 
and beckoned them to hasten. And when the lit- 
tle Streams saw the princess springing over the 
stones far below, and stopped anxiously, afraid to 
take a leap, and yet unable to find another path, 


PEINCESS ILSE. 


33 


then Use enticed them with her sweet voice, en- 
couraged them, and settled the strong, stony foot- 
stools, thickly cushioned with soft moss, over which 
they could glide to her. So the little Fountains 
took heart, threw off their chains, and sprang very 
boldly from one little green bench to another. Lit- 
tle Use caught them, if still, somewhat awkwardly, 
they jumped into her lap; took them by the hand; 
and said, Come, now, you shall run with me. See 
how I do ; and always spring when I spring. I 
will hold you so you shall not fall.” And the lit- 
tle Streams did as they were bid. Holding Use’s 
hand, they skipped over the great Stones without 
hurting themselves, and did not fear ; and learned 
to run and spring so nicely, that soon, when they 
had on white foam-caps too, they could no longer 
be distinguished from little Use. 

But the Devil on the Brockenberg was deeply 
chagrined at the flight of the lovely princess. He 
knew very well that such a pure little Fountain 
was no prey for him ; and the Spirit of Pride, the 
surest instrument to catch young souls, had gone 


34 


PEmCESS ILSE. 


out of her. What should he do to seize the merry 
child once more? The Storm Wind came to his 
mind, of whom the little princess had been so afraid ; 
and he called the North Wind, and bid him rush 
up the valley, directly against nimble little Use. 
This, he thought, would force her to turn round, 
and drive her back to the Brocken. 

The North Wind took a deal of trouble to carry 
out the DeviPs orders. He did all he could, 
blustering, roaring, and howling : he shook the 
trees, so that their very roots trembled ; and hurled 
their broken branches to the ground directly in 
front of little Ilse^s feet. A young Fir, which, in 
the steep, rocky wall had not yet gained a firm 
footing, he threw just across her path ; and seized 
the flowing veil of little Use, wishing to drag her 
off. But the princess tore herself away, not 
heeding how much of her veil she left behind in 
the hands of the North Wind. She now neither 
feared for nor thought of herself: only the danger 
of her dear trees lay on her heart ; and she would 
so gladly have helped them battle against the 


PEINOESS ILSE. 


35 


storm if she only could ! Grieving, she glided 
down to the Fir so rudely hurled to the ground, 
flung herself upon it, overflowed it with her tears, 
and compassionately washed its wounds. The 
little green Beech and Oak Twigs, which the 
North Wind threw in her lap, she tenderly cradled 
in her soft arms, kissing their faded leaves, and 
carrying them some distance ; till at last she 
gently laid them in a springy bed of moss. 

And the Devil still stood on the Brocken, grind- 
ing his teeth with rage, as he saw that the North 
Wind strove in vain, and could do nothing with 
little Use. ^^So, then, I will send Winter,'^ he 
murmured to himself: “he will gag her, and clap 
her into chains. Desolate, gray Winter, with cold 
and hunger, with long, dark nights, when Tempta- 
tion is awake, and Sin crawls along her secret 
paths, — he has already led many poor souls to me, 
and can yet, perhaps, get the better of the deli- 
cate water princess. Thou North Wind below, 
bestir thyself, and cease not; shake the leaves 
from the trees, and prepare Winter’s way: thou 


36 


PBINCIJSS ILSE. 


knowest that he never comes, till, with a heavy- 
tread, he can rustle through the withered foliage.’^ 
And the North Wind, as an obedient servant, 
roared once more wildly and icily through the 
valley. The Beeches stood trembling and freez- 
ing, and, terrified, let their yellow leaves fall to 
the ground. The tops of the Oaks grew red with 
cold, and finally stripped off from their branches 
their last leafy ornaments, and looked anxiously 
with naked boughs towards him who was coming. 
Only the Fir-tree stood calmly, and wore un- 
changed his royal dark-green mantle. Little Use 
at his feet could not understand what all this 
meant, and pettishly chided the trees. Alas ! 
you frantic trees, what is the matter with you ? 
Why are you throwing all these dried leaves in my 
face ? Do not you love little Use any longer ? and 
will you scratch out her eyes with brown acorns 
and hard beech-nuts?’^ Very angrily sprang 
away the little one, and shook the withered 
leaves from her tresses and from her robe’s 
shining folds. 


PBINOESS ILSE. 


37 


Winter, meantime, had arrived on the Brocken, 
and was enveloped in the thickest mantle of mist 
by the hands of the very Devil himself. Then he 
passed slowly over the mountains, and rolled 
heavily down into the vaUey. At first he was not 
very disagreeable, but showed a little velvet paw, 
and tried to be very insinuating, drawing brilliant 
little coats of white frost over ti^ees and shrubs ; 
so that little Use, completely dazzled by so much 
splendor, did not know where to look. Then came 
snowflakes, whirled staggering through the air; 
and the princess at first Uhlieved that they were 
the Clouds themselves, wishing to visit her in the 
valley, and renew the acquaintance made on the 
Alpine heights. But as Winter laid his cold white 
coverlet more thickly and heavily over the whole 
ravine, burying every thing, stones and roots, 
mosses and weeds, and even the pale, trembling 
grass-blades, little Ilse^s heart grew very anxious, 
and she thought then her turn would come too ; 
and she was already so unhappy about her dear 
green, which she could no longer see ! And as she 


38 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


worked zealously to wash the snow from all the 
stones which she could reach, and to clear it from 
the soft httle moss, she felt, with horror, sharp, icy 
needles piercing her tender limbs, and saw that 
Winter, round stones and tree^roots, wherever she 
passed, had forged cruel, glittering chain-links, 
which, with thorns and arrows that shot out 
farther and farther, were seizing and clasping her 
fast, and gradually completely fettering her weak 
young limbs. Fierce Winter now clutched the 
poor child^s tender breast with a sharp, icy claw. 
Cold shivers crept thi*ough little Use: trembling, 
she clung to the gnarled roots of the Fir-tree ; and, 
imploring help, she looked up to the tall Forest- 
king. 

She saw him likewise wrapped in Winter’s white 
veil: but, beneath the cold snow, there shone upon 
her from his branches a dark, eternal green ; and 
this mild look of Spring rested on her breast, giv- 
ing warmth and comfort, and inspiring her with 
new life and power. “ 0 Fir-tree ! ” cried little 
Use, “how do you begin to defy Winter, and re- 


FBINGESS ILSE. 


39 


main green and living in his icy arms ? Can I not 
learn to do so too?’’ — ‘‘Because I am grounded 
upon a rock/’ replied the Fir-tree, “ and my head 
rises towards heaven : therefore the Lord gives me 
power to remain green through all seasons. And 
you, little Use, are a stream gushing from a rock, 
reflecting in your clear wave heaven’s light, pure 
and undimmed, as it beams upon you. If the true 
life is in you, the inner impulse which God 
gives, so will the power to conquer Winter never 
fail : therefore trust in God, little Use, hasten on, 
and weary not.” — “Dear Fir-tree,” said little Use, 
“ I will grow strong and good like you : Winter 
shall not get the better of me.” And, with a power- 
ful wrench, she tore herself from the icy arms 
which had grasped her ; struck at the rough hands 
that wished to hold her robe among the stones ; 
and shot in wild haste down the valley, crushing 
and crashing the fetters and thorns that tried to 
keep her a prisoner. Old Winter could not keep 
pace with such a young romp: sp he sat grum- 
bling in the snow, forced to acknowledge his 


40 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


weakness, and the impossibility of seizing nimble 
Use. 

The next day, as the little princess was spring- 
ing merrily along, rejoicing in her victory, and 
driving restlessly before her the ice-splinters she 
had shivered from the stones, the Mosses by her 
path called out, “ 0 Use, dear Use, help us I The 
snow presses so heavily upon our tender little 
heads, we can no longer stand straight on our weak 
stems. Help us, dear Use, Winter hurts us so ! ” 
And Princess Use compassionately stooped down 
to them, cautiously raised one little corner of the 
heavy snow-coverlet, and, placing her sweet face 
beneath it, whispered to the Mosses the wisdom 
she had learned from the Fir-tree : ‘‘ Because you 
are grounded on rocks, little Mosses, and the dear 
Lord God lets you remain green under the cold 
snow, forget not that divine life is in you. Try to 
be strong, and stand up, and grow under Winter’s 
white covering. The blessed God will surely help 
you if you call upon him.” And the Mosses imme- 
diately began to bestir themselves, and, working, 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


41 


grew very warm; and, after a while, they cried joy- 
fully, “ Use, Use, it is all right I Now we are stand- 
ing up straight again, and are really growing. The 
snow runs away wherever we catch hold with our 
little green hands.’^ 

So little Use taught her playfellows, the Grasses 
and Mosses, to exercise and use their powers, and 
to brave Winter. She gave the little Grasses her 
fresh living water to drink; made them stretch 
themselves and grow, and give the first greeting 
to Spring as she at last appeared once more in the 
valley, drawing the snow-coverlet from the ground, 
and frightening Winter back to the Brocken, 
where the warm Sun did not tolerate him long. 

The Fir-tree threw ofi* his white raiment also, 
and, for the Spring festival, adorned all the tips of 
his dark twigs with bright-green shoots. The 
Oaks and Beeches once more put on their green 
robes ; and little Use passed, for many, many hun- 
dred years, happy, blessed days in the beautiful, 
peaceful forest. Winter, indeed, returned every 
year, and carried on the same barbarous game 


42 


PBINCESS ILSE. 


with trees and plants, and laid for little Use his 
brilliant snares. But the strong, active child did 
not allow herself to be caught once : agile and slip- 
pery as a little lizard, she always glided from his 
rough, icy hands. 

The trees grew green again every year, and 
never looked more lovely and vigorous than in the 
Spring, as if the fierce battle with Winter had 
renewed, and given them fresh power ; and little 
Use, too, was most sparkling and beautiful when 
the mountain snows had melted, and, in charming 
petulance, she shot brawling and foaming through 
the forest. Snow is the sweet milk of little moun- 
tain streams : the thirstier they drink it, the more 
they thrive. 

The green Forest was proud of its dear foster- 
child, little Use : and because she thought no long- 
er of herself, but only of her beloved trees and 
plants, and how she could do them a kindness, and 
had entirely forgotten that she was a princess, 
all the others thought about it, — trees, flowers, and 
stones, the slender grasses and mosses ; and they 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


43 


esteemed and reverenced her, doing homage in 
their quiet, heartfelt way. 

Where Princess Use glided through the valley, 
little shrubs and flowers thronged to her feet, and 
kissed the border of her robe and her floating veil; 
and the tall, slight Grass-blades stood whispering 
by her path, and waving their pretty little feather- 
hats in salutation. The pensive Blue-bells, loveliest 
of the foresPs flower-children, that cared for little 
Use above all things, and wished to be very near 
her, came crowding round, bent over her brow, and 
gazed at her seriously, like pious thoughts, with 
earnest eyes. Indeed, they even stepped on the 
wet, polished Stones, which Princess Use clasped 
in her arms; and the little Stream kissed them 
tenderly, and caused a soft moss-carpet to bo 
spread beneath them, with which their fibrous lit- 
tle legs could gain a firm footing on the slippery 
floor. With Ferns and Grasses in peaceful compan- 
ionship, then, the little Blue-bells lived the summer 
long, a blessed elfin life on the wet Stones, which 
Princess Use held in her arms, as on an enchanted 


44 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


island. The Ferns, which had likewise climbea on 
the damp Stones wherever there was a vacant lit- 
tle place, kept little Use cool with their beautiful 
green fans, and teased the Sunbeams, not suffer- 
ing them to kiss their dear princess. 

The Sunbeams loved the child too, and came 
down to her in the forest as often as the gray 
Clouds on the mountains permitted, and played 
with her under the trees. The gray Clouds of 
old were created guardians of the Sun’s rays ; and, 
because they were so thick and clumsy, scarcely 
stirred, save when the Storm-wind now and then 
swept through them with his broom, making them 
move : so they could not rightly suffer the merry 
dancing and shimmering of their bright, light- 
footed ward with little Use in the green fields 
below, but often sat days together like a wall on 
the mountains, not allowing a Sun-glance to peep 
through, however slender it had made itself. 
Besides, they poured torrents down into the 
valley, and saw with inward satisfaction little 
Use gliding along, lonely and troubled. Such 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


;45 


behavior in the sullen, bristling old women made 
the Sunbeams very wild and impatient. Out 
of humor, they crowded confusedly behind the 
backs of the old dames, mocking and jeering at 
the gray Clouds, and exciting them so much by 
their sharp taunts, that the insulted ones could 
finally no longer hold out on their chosen seat, but 
dispersed in perfect stillness. Then the way was 
open again ; and the Sun’s rays slipped down to the 
forest, swung themselves in the rain-drops which 
still hung on the trees, and often chased round all 
day in the grass with little Use. They were 
present once when a white Strawberry Blossom, 
whose numerous family is scattered through all 
the valleys of the Harz, had crept stealthily 
towards Use, and mirrored her face in the little 
princess’ shining robe. Use, however, had seen 
her, and held up her little finger threateningly, 
calling out, 0 Strawberry Blossom ! you are vain 
of the little golden button on your brow, and 
wish to mirror and admire yourself here.” The 
frightened Strawberry Blossom dropped her white 


46 


PEINCESS ILSE. 


leaves, and speedily retreated among the green 
foliage ; but the Sunbeams, laughing, sprang after 
her, and searched her out behind the broad 
leaves. The poor Blossom was very much mor- 
tified at being caught : and, whenever a Sun- 
beam looked at her, she blushed deeply and more 
deeply ; and stood finally, almost tinged with 
purple, behind the green leaf-screen, letting her. 
little head bashfully droop to the ground. Even 
to-day it wounds her that her vanity was then so 
notorious; and still she reddens in presence of 
the Sun’s rays, and hangs her lovely little head. 
The good full Moon, Use’s old friend, often came 
to visit her, not shunning the fatiguing path over 
the mountains. She stood above the Ilsen-stone, 
the finest crag of the whole mountain-range, 
which men in the valley named for little Use; 
gazed kindly down on her, and saw her darling 
rippling along within the shadow of the moun- 
tains, playing a charming game with the silver 
stars she tossed her. 

Men had now been for some time in the valley 





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PRINCESS ILSE. 


47 


where little Use dwelt. She treated them at first 
very coldly, so that the Fir-tree had a deal of 
trouble, chiding and teaching, before he could 
induce the child to behave in a friendly way, and 
before she could become accustomed to their 
intercourse. The first men who came to the 
forest were several charcoal-burners, who built 
huts, felled trees, made and lighted a kiln. Then 
little Use shed many, many tears over her dear 
trees, which, hewn by the sharp axe, lay dying 
on the ground. And the Flowers and Grasses 
complained and cried as the men wore a path 
through the wilderness, trampling their little 
heads, so that Use was cut to the heart. The 
flames which flashed from the kiln, and the smoke 
that rose, recalled the fearful night on the 
Brocken, filling her with the greatest horror. 
But the Fir-tree told her that man was lord of 
creation, whom God made in his own image, and 
that all other creatures were appointed to serve 
him; also that every tree must live the time 
which God. has allotted it, and must then be 


48 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


struck down by man^s hand, by lightning from 
heaven, or by decay and corruption, which, from 
within, destroy its life ; also that she should not 
fear Fire, which was a 'sacred power, doing much 
good on the earth if rightly used ; and that one 
day little Use would learn to see this herself, and 
in the future would draw nearer the Fire, giving 
it her hand, and willingly working with it. 

Princess Use did not rejoice at the idea of the 
time when she should approach the Fire, and work 
in its fellowship ; but she had the greatest rever- 
ence for the Fir-tree’s wisdom, and gave implicit 
faith to his words. 

After a long time, many men together came to 
the valley with axes and spades, bringing cows 
and goats with them: these they drove to the 
meadowy pastures among the mountains. At 
some distance below the Ilsen-stone, where the 
valley widened, they went directly towards little 
Use ; felled many trees in her neighborhood, cut- 
ting them for boards and beams ; and on one side 
dug a large hall for the little princess ; protected 


PBINCESS ILSE. 


49 


its walls with stones, and patches of turf; and 
towards the valley made a great outlet, which was 
firmly closed with wood. Meantime, with the 
beams and boards they had built houses, and 
there settled with their wives and children ; and, 
when all was ready, they went to Princess Use, 
and begged her to descend to the great hall, and 
make herself comfortable in it. Little Use 
thanked them, but wished to slip away, as she 
always did from every thing that seemed safe or 
unsafe. The men, however, blocked up her way 
with stones and earth, and on one side tore away 
a large piece of rock that had protected her path. 
As she was running at full speed, she could not 
check her course, but with all her force dashed 
through the breach into the hall, thus forming 
what the men called a pond, and, spreading her- 
self on all sides, angrily tossed her foaming little 
waves against its walls. Some time elapsed 
before she could grow calm in her strange 
prison; but after a while she stood patiently, 
collected her waters and her thoughts, and in- 


4 


50 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


quiringly looked up at the Fir-tree, which, un- 
harmed, was standing near the gable of the new 
house. The Fir-tree smiled sadly, and said, “ Now 
Cultivation comes, little Use, and Freedom and 
Peace in our beautiful forest will be very much 
restricted.’’ — ‘^Cultivation!” sighed little Use. 
“ Oh, may God pity us ! This is surely from the 
Devil. She who fells so many of the blessed 
Lord’s trees, strips off their bark, and cuts them 
in pieces, — she can have nothing good in her 
thoughts.” — “Poor child!” replied the Fir-tree, 
laughing, “ what will you say, then, when you 
know the arts of Civilization, Cultivation’s grand- 
daughter, who is a treasure-digger, and delves 
for gold, sparing not the last trees when they 
stand in her way ? She destroys the forests, plants 
red beets, and builds great stone houses, with 
tiresome factory chimneys as high as the sky. 
Where she comes. Poetry meets her end.” Use 
folded her little hands, and looked so full of 
misery, that the Fir-tree continued : “Do not be 
troubled, child: a long, long time must elapse 


PBINCESS ILSE. 


51 


before Civilization can come near us. Generally, 
she does not trust herself readily among the 
mountains ; flat land suits her better : and we 
will pray the dear Lord to preserve our quiet 
valley from her. But Cultivation is a faithful 
handmaid of the Lord ; brings with her pros- 
perity, blessings, and God’s word, whose sounds 
morning and evening float up from the valley. 
The emperor has given the castle below, at the 
entrance of the valley, to a worthy bishop, who 
lets pious monks dwell there, turning it into a 
monastery ; and, in their service, people have 
come and established themselves here.” 

Little Use understood it all, and had already 
won more confidence in men. She pressed herself 
against the gate of the outlet, and, dripping, 
peeped through the board-door over the low-lying 
house. Then she saw just beneath her a strong 
new mill-wheel, made of timber ; and the miller’s 
curly-haired boy, who was standing on the bridge, 
called out, laughing, Yes, peep down. Princess 
Use : the doors will be opened immediately ; then 


52 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


the dance will begin, and you shall spring merrily 
round the wheel. Must I, then, be broken on 
the wheel?’’ thought little Use, as she gazed with 
beating heart on the gigantic wheel. But this 
began creaking and rattling in all its spokes, and 
whispered, ‘‘ Do you not know us, little Use? We 
are really wood from your dear trees. Do you 
know us no longer? You need fear nothing: 
we will not harm you.” And as the miller then 
stepped out, and began to draw up the bar, calling 
out merrily, Now come down, little Use ; you 
have rested long enough there in the pond ; come, 
bestir yourself, and help us work,” the little 
princess did so, not at all coyly, but, running 
quickly down to the wheel, drew her little robes 
together, and stepped with her delicate feet, agile 
and cautious, first on one spoke, then on anoth- 
er. As the wheel began to move under her light 
tread, she sprang boldly on from one point to an- 
other, let her veil flutter in the wind, put on her 
little foam-cap, and finally shot, rushing and roaring, 
along the mill-trench; while the wheel sprang 


PEINCESS ILSE. 


53 


round, the mill clattered time, and silver-clear 
pearl-strings which Princess Use lost from her 
damp tresses dropped from all the spokes of the 
mill-wheel. 

Little Use had now become a worker in the ser- 
vice of men, a water of life and growth to the 
valley and its inhabitants. With men she labored 
in mills and iron-works, where she made the Fire’s 
dreaded acquaintance. Soon finding that the aver- 
sion was mutual, — he standing in as much awe 
of her as she of him, — they never drew nearer 
than was necessary to despatch their business; 
soon getting out of each other’s way again, each 
liking the other best at a distance. 

Princess Use went in bright pails to the houses 
for wives and daughters, and helped them with 
their domestic duties in kitchens, washes, and 
scouring tubs. She bathed the children, watered 
the flowers and vegetables in the gardens, and 
was not ashamed to render any humble service. 
And she needed not to be ashamed ; for Princess 
Use lost nothing of the dignity of her hereditary 


54 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


rank by performing lowly works of love among the 
children of men. 

Many more hundred years elapsed since little 
Use had first placed her foot on the mill-wheel. 

As the doctrines of Luther spread through the 
valley, the monks abandoned the old abbey at the 
foot of the mountain, and a noble race of counts 
there took up their abode ; and for a long, long time 
they flourished and ruled in Ilsenburg, and little 
Use served them and their subjects as she had the 
monks and their tenants. When this stronghold, 
however, began to go to ruin, and the Counts Stol- 
berg chose for their seat another, stronger castle, 
they took care that little Use and her beloved val- 
ley should suffer no loss by the change. They 
caused more and more industrious men to establish 
themselves in Use’s district, and work in her fel- 
lowship, bringing to light the noble marrow of the 
mountain, — strong iron; tempering and giving it 
suitable shape, by which it becomes fit for the 
ends of human industry. 

Little Use could then be seen busily working 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


55 


early and late, never growing weary of or averse to 
her dull work. Whoever met her in the valley, as, 
shining in sparkling purity, she stepped forth from 
the forest, could not help instantly recognizing the 
princess of purest water, daughter of the Light, 
and paying her the profoundest homage. But, for 
all this, a saint little Use had not yet become ; and 
when the blessed Lord God now and then suffered 
a thunder-storm to break over her, which stirred 
her waters to their depths, and brought to light all 
her hidden sins and vices, from which no dweller 
on this earth, however nobly born, is wholly free, 
then little Use was deeply grieved to see her little 
waves so dark and stained. But she let the tem- 
pest serve, as the storms of life should serve every 
one, for self-knowledge and purification ; and, when 
all impurities had separated and cleared away, she 
absorbed most beautifully and powerfully the light 
of heaven, refiecting it again with renewed 
strength and brilliancy. 

A very great grief little Use had yet to suf- 
fer, when, in consequence of Cultivation’s ever- 


56 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


encroaching grasp in later times, a broad Ckaussee^ 
on innumerable cart-wheels, came crawling up 
the valley, spoiled the green forest ground with 
spades and stone-cutters, felled once more num- 
bers of beautiful trees, and with sharp weapons 
fought the way she could only win by force. 

This I will not endure ! this I will not put up 
with ! ” cried little Use in intense excitement. 
“ Shall this tedious person with a French name 
creep near me at a comfortable snaiPs pace year 
in and year out? perhaps even play governess, 
tutoring, and fretfully calling to me, ^ Gracefully, 
slowly. Use ; do not go too near the flowers ; do 
not spring so. Use ; just see how properly I go 
along’? The noble forest-path, as, winding round the 
rocky crag, out of green oak-shades, it enticingly 
beckons to me, is a very different companion.” 
And in wild anger the little princess dashed, 
foaming, against the masses of rock which pro- 
tected the Chaussee, wishing to make them totter, 
and the hated French woman fall. Use, Use ! ” 
warned the Fir-tree from the steep, rocky wall, 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


57 


“ what mad, boyish freak is this ? Have you not 
yet understood that we must all bear whatever 
conduces to man’s use and benefit ? If we trees put 
up with the Ohaussee, you surely should bear with 
her; though indeed we do not rejoice to see the 
trailing, dust-colored dress come wandering up the 
valley. Be ashamed of yourself, Use ; and just see 
how the witches up there on the mountain-slope 
are laughing at you.” 

The Devil’s ghost on the Brockenberg had van- 
ished since Christian men there took up their 
abode ; and the witches and little devils, that had 
been driven away, 'walked through the land in all 
sorts of disguises, taking the loveliest and most 
enchanting forms to deceive poor souls, and win 
them for their dark kingdom. A band of young 
witches, who always bore a grudge against little 
Use for having outshone them all on the Brocken- 
bei’g in dignity and grace, descended to the valley 
every summer to act as spies on the princess ; at 
least destroying her pleasure, if they could cause 
her no other vexation. In the dresses of splendid 


58 


PRINCESS USE. 


red Fox-gloves, the witches stood in coquettish 
groups on the bare mountain-slopes, in bright sun- 
shine, winking at the Ferns, and calling to the good 
little Blue-bells to inform them that Fox-gloves 
and Blue-bells were near relations. But the little 
Blue-bells saw the drops of deadly poison in the 
bottom of the flower^s brilliant cups ; and, gently 
shaking their little heads, they drew nearer Use, 
begging the Ferns to stand in front of them, and 
spread out their fans, so that they need no longer 
see the artful rabble. Princess Use glanced up- 
ward fearfully, and murmured quiet prayers as she 
glided by. She praised and caressed the faithful 
little Blue-bells and Ferns; and finding that the 
wet Stones in her path, with quite too bright faces, 
looked up at the Witch-flowers, unexpectedly she 
threw her silver veil over them, dazzling them 
with brilliant rays of light, which she caught, and 
teasingly threw in their faces. 

But Princess Use had as little as possible to do 
with the ChamsSe, if she could not prevent her 
way through the valley. Winding in by-paths 


PIfINCESS ILSE. 


59 


through deepest forest-shades, she tried to get out 
of her sight. When, in mad haste, she dashed 
over the cliffs, believing that she had quite 
escaped from her dusty companion, she suddenly 
rushed right against her ; and the Chaussee threw 
a bridge over her, and Princess Use was forced 
to glide, stooping, beneath the yoke, and repress 
her indignation, that she might soon regain the open 
air beyond. But little Use’s anger did not last long. 
Deeper in the valley, she glides again more peace- 
fully near the ChaussSe, and humbly kisses the foot 
of the llsen-stone, on whose summit the holy sign 
of the cross is erected: for Princess Use is not 
dead; she still lives, and daily attends to her 
modest duties in the mills and iron-works of the 
valley. Sundays, when the mills are closed, and 
the industrious inhabitants of the Ilsethal in holi- 
day dress ascend the Schlossberg to pray in the 
little old church, and to hear the word of God, 
which there, so simply and purely, is preached 
with power and earnestness, the silver voice of 
litle Use, gently rippling, joins in with organ-peal 


60 


PBINCESS ILSE. 


and clang of bells, which, issuing from the old 
castle-walls, float over the valley. 

Little Use has lost nothing of her original fresh- 
ness and loveliness, while for many centuries she 
has streamed through the valley, bearing bless- 
ings. She drank of the inexhaustible fountain of 
eternal youth, which in earnest, useful labor, in 
transparency and purity, clearing *itself from every 
stain, and absorbing heavenly light, gushes with 
that strength which is founded on rocks, — rocks 
which God has planted. And every thirsty soul 
may reach this fountain who seeks it in the right 
place. So Princess Use shows the world what 
foolish, erring children may become when the lit- 
tle Devil of Pride is gone out of them ; and men 
who, with summer’s thirst, come to the Ilsethal 
from the barren steppes or bleak mountains of 
daily life, she inspires with childliood’s natural 
feelings, letting them be again innocent, confiding 
children while they tarry beneath her fragrant 
forest-shades, where the green is always greener 
and sweeter, the air fresher and more full of life, 
than anywhere else in the world. 


PIiINC£SS ILSE. 


61 


Little Use has learned not to fear the Devil and 
his witches, where, saved, she glides along in the 
shadow of the Ilsenstein. She even dares to play 
Princess Cooking-water ; and, when the valley’s 
summer visitors wish to have ■ their coffee boiled 
by the mossy bank below the Ilsen-stone, fearless 
she comes up to them in the swinging little kettle, 
lets the coffee-woman have all the honor, claims for 
herself neither praise nor wages, and desires as 
her only reward that people who have had the 
great pleasure of drinking coffee made with Ilsen- 
water should raise a contribution in the shape of 
sweet rusk for the little field-mouse which dwells 
in the stone clefts of the mossy bank, and is de- 
scended in a direct line from that little field-mouse 
-that dug the passage from the Brocken, through 
which Princess Use, in the distant gray ages, 
escaped to the valley. Not to every coffee-party’s 
lot, however, falls the honor of seeing the small 
pointed head and bright eyes of the pretty little 
creature peeping out of the mossy cushion ; for 
the field-mouse is fastidious in his company, and 


62 


PRINCESS ILSE. 


shy like his race. But he who sees him is bound 
“ by the anger of Use ’’ to feed him with sweet 
rusk, or whatever else is fancied by men with their 
coffee, and by little mice in rocky clefts. 

Such a contract was made on a beautiful August 
day in the year of our Lord 1851, and lies writ- 
ten and sealed beneath the Ilsenstein, and in that 
coffee-party’s recollections of the Harz who on 
that day fed the field-mouse. 

The Story has nothing more to tell. It has 
nestled itself in the rocky green valley, and feels 
that there would be no pleasure in running after 
little Use to the plains, where she meets the Ocker 
with the Ecker, and, later, the Aller, who then lead 
her to Old Weser; and Old Weser drags Aller and 
Ocker and Ecker and Use, and all the rivers and 
rivulets which fiow into her, to the open sea. 

But this the Story would, indeed, like to know, 
— how such a poor little Ilsendrop feels when it 
regains its senses in the broad ocean. 


THE 


WiLL-O’-THE-WlSPS. 


C 



y A L E. 


BY THE AUTHORESS OF “PRINCESS ILSK” 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. 


63 









'iV-. 



C.-, i'4 







THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


It had thundered for several days. The heavy 
Storm-clouds could find no outlet from the gorges 
of the mountains, but, dark and angry, took dizzy 
paths along steep mountain-sides, — paths where 
neither bold hunter nor donkey clambered after 
them ,• or, sinking far down in the ravines, roared 
with hoarse thunder-tones in crevice and cavern, 
their sultry breath floating over trees and plants 
which stood anxious and motionless. The shy 
game had sought shelter in forest and cave ; and 
; the mountain-swallow, which nestled in the rocky 
walls, dared no longer try the upper air, but 
i gliding close to the ground, the dark tips of its 
wings almost skimming the grasses, flew hither 
J and thither in trembling circles. 


5 


65 


66 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


In short and tempestuous gusts, the Storm-wind 
had roared through the valleys, forerunner of sud- 
den and violent showers. Mad and fierce as he is, 
he had heeded little whether the finest and proud- 
est trees of the forest extended their green arms 
imploringly towards him; and if here and there a 
subtle, slender birch escaped unharmed from his 
wild embrace, many noble oaks and pines paid 
with broken limbs for his rough greeting. 

Sudden and violent Showers, sisters of the Storm, 
almost equalled their brother in wildness, and love 
of mischief. Born of the same cloud, they rushed 
with the same unbridled power and fury over 
mountain and meadow. Roaring over precipices, 
dashing into ravines, they dragged along every 
thing that came in their way ; rolled little bushes 
and heavy stones down from the mountains ; and 
tore, with no mercy to the old cliff’s, great pieces 
out of the green-velvet mantle with which Spring 
had compassionately draped their naked shoulders. 
But woe, above all, to the ripening grain among 
which the wild flood forced its way ! The tender 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


67 


stalks were dashed to the ground, never to rise 
again. Buried beneath mud and stones, fettered by 
rank green tendrils, they died a pitiable death, — 
they to whom every sunbeam had spoken of future 
triumphs, when, in golden ripeness, ‘ they should 
make their stately entrance into the village in high 
gayly-decked wagons, be blessed by the pastor, and 
honored by the happy country-folk with song and 
dance. 

Notwithstanding all the waters which had rushed 
down, the dark cloud-curtain would not shake out 
its heavy folds, but, spreading shadow beyond 
shadow, concealed every speck of heaven’s blue, 
which, generally so smiling and sunny, glanced 
down on the flowery sward, between leafy roofs 
and rocky peaks. 

This day, since early morning, the howling 
voice of the Storm-wind had not been heard. The 
wild showers had ceased shaking their silver 
manes : only a gentle dripping followed in their 
train, softly purling over mountain and valley. 
On the smooth mirror of the frogs’ pond, at the 


68 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


edge of the forest, the Rain-elfins had danced their 
round dances the whole afternoon, and first glided 
away as the sun sank to rest; and the evening 
Wind, which, weary of battle, had been reposing in 
the grass, arose, and rifted the clouds here and 
there, so that friendly sunbeams sent down to the 
valley their quiet evening greeting. Pursued by 
the teasing airs, the Rain-elfins flew among the tall 
rushes on the shore, and, rocking, clung to the 
feathery tufts and small leaves of the reeds ; or 
ascended in long misty processions, on slanting 
sunbeams, to the Cloud-mother, to dream of new • 
frolics in her bosom. 

A broad stream of bright sunshine fell through 
the rifted clouds, on the green clearing in the 
forest, which, from a projecting ridge half way up 
the mountain, afforded a distant view. Arm in 
arm, two youthful travellers stood there, gazing 
with shining eyes on the land below, veiled in 
clouds and evening shadows. 

Descending abruptly towards the south, the 
Mountain grasps the land with two mighty arms, 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS, 


69 


tearing off, and seizing as its own property, a few 
miles of the fruitful plain, which extends to the 
distant stream. It, is a green and lovely spot, 
which, clasped in these powerful arms, protected 
from the north and east winds, warm and shel* 
tered, rests again the old Mountain’s rocky breast. 
Fed by her streams, ever developing a more luxu- 
riant growth, adorned with fertile fields and 
meadows, with orchards and wooded hills, smiling 
and grateful, it looks up at the Mountain’s light- 
crowned brow ; coaxingly forces its way, with its 
fresh young green, into the wildest ravines ; and 
clambers, with bold tree-growth and fragrant 
forest-shades, up steep acclivities, springing rashly 
over fearful clefts and precipices, to place on the 
solemn head of a lonely crag a few dark firs, a 
waving light-green veil of birch ; or steps gently 
aside, stretching itself comfortably to rest where 
merry mountain-streams gush bubbling towards it. 

It was not only the evening sun which cast such 
a brilliant light on the boys on the mountain ridge: 
streaming, from within, there shone on their bloom- 


70 


THE WILL-(y-THE-WISPS. 


ing faces the fall sunshine of the summer holidays 
just beginning; the sunshine of that sparkling, 
boyish joy which makes a fe,w weeks outside of 
the school cage, with flittings on free wing through 
field and forest, seem an eternity of inexhausti- 
ble delight. When, too, there is a journey to the 
distant home, a meeting with parents, brothers, and 
sisters, and visits to all the dear places in house 
and garden which are gilded by the first memories 
of glimmering consciousness, how flashes the 
young heart in its bright fire of joy I 

Both boys, almost youths, were on their way 
from a great city beyond the mountains. The 
heavy stage-coach in which they journeyed could 
move but slowly over the mountain-roads washed 
by the rains ; and while it was waiting for fresh 
horses at the last relay station, in a valley gorge, 
one of the boys had left the close parlor of the 
inn, and climbed a well-known footpath up the 
mountain. His friend had hurried after, but had 
just overtaken him, and now stood near him. 
Drawing a long brestth, he looked at his heated 


THE WILL- O'- THE- WISPS. 


71 


face, and said, smiling, How red you are ! You 
climb like a chamois. I had hard work to overtake 
you.’^ 

Oh ! here I am at home,’’ cried the other joy- 
fully : ^^here I know every tree, every stone; I 
could find my way even at night : indeed, I have 
often enough clambered up these rocks after sun- 
set to catch night-butterflies. Our fellow-travellers 
have annoyed me the whole day. I could not bear 
the fellows, and, in that musty coffee-room, I could 
not stand their confusing noise.” — “ Oh ! they are 
good fellows enough,” replied his friend : a little 
wild and rough, but very honest. I think they 
would gladly have asked us to play; but you put 
on such a sober face, they did not dare to.” 

I am very glad they did not dare. But, man, 
look round you ! Can you be sorry now that you 
came up here ? ” 

No, indeed !” answered the other. “It is glori- 
ous here; and that distant view fully makes up for 
wet clothes and the steep path. It has entirely 
stopped raining too ; and the long sunbeams are shin- 


72 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-WISPS. 


ing in the wooded ravines, and are pointing out 
the glittering mountain-streams far below. Just 
see that little old church on the hill yonder. The 
gilt cross on its top is as red as if it were on fire ! ” 

“ That is the church of Nordingen/’ was the 
joyful answer. On the left, at the edge of the 
forest, — way down in the valley, — you can see 
the gable of our small house. Those two windows 
which are shining so bright are in our spare room: 
you will sleep there when you come to see us next 
year. I wish you were going with me now ! 
What a pity that your sister must be married just 
in the holidays ! 

‘‘ Indeed ! I think Tis really good in her to be 
married in vacation, when I can be at home ; but I 
would so gladly make you a visit too ! How fine 
Twill be next summer ! Do those small houses 
yonder belong to your Nordingen?^’ — ^‘Yes, in- 
deed ! The cottages of the weavers and peasants 
lie scattered among fields and gardens. The manor 
house, too, could once be seen from here ; but the 
elms and lindens in the park have grown, and have 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


73 


quite hidden the desolate, dreary-looking build- 
ing.’’ 

Does nobody live there ? ” 

The steward with his wife and children lives 
in one of the wings ; but the body of the house 
is quite vacant. The shutters are seldom opened, 
or the curtains drawn aside. My father often goes 
there to see that every thing is kept in order.” 

“ Will the heir always live in England ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! He is only to be educated there among 
his father’s relatives, and will return as soon as he 
is of age. Over yonder, close by the church, where 
the tall firs tower over the roof, are the graves of 
his grandparents. My father loved the family very 
much : and, as long as I was at home, he let me carry 
fresh flowers every Sunday in summer to their 
graves ; and he or old Bridget often went with 
me. The churchyard is on the other side, down 
the hill, just by the park. I have seen many 
coffins buried there.” 

“Your motlier lies there also?” inquired his 
friend in a gentler voice. 


74 


THE WILL- O’-THE- WISPS. 


Oh, no replied the other sadly. My mother 
died on a distant journey, when I was very young. 
She does not rest in German earth.” 

Had you, dear reader, sat opposite the boys in 
the coach during the day, and listened to their 
pleasant talk, and could you now have heard these 
simple answers, and gazed at the suddenly cloud- 
ing face of the speaker, perhaps you would at once 
have understood why this countenance attracted 
you so strangely ; why you could not withdraw 
your glance from those decided, finely-chiselled 
features, from the grave mouth and the dreamy 
dark eyes that were beaming with a light of child- 
like purity which seemed to belong to another 
world. As the shadow of a cloud over a landscape 
in early spring, so lay an expression of sad earnest- 
ness on these youthful features, which spoke of 
something different from the smiling days of bloom- 
ing youth and of summer-holiday pleasures ; of 
something different from the simple experiences of 
a scholar who takes home good certificates, and even 
a prize. We have been accustomed, on finding in 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


75 


child’s face that transfiguring light of spiritual 
meaning far beyond his tender years, to gaze into 
the future with a troubled, questioning glance, and 
to prophesy for the child an early death. But how 
often we see before us only the shadows of a mel- 
ancholy past stretching over the youthful life ! 
traces of tears, which, scalding and numberless, 
have already fallen on the child in his cradle ; the 
reflection of sad, serious faces, beneath whose in- 
fluence the poor little thing has given its first 
smile, and lisped its first word. And now this 
one costly jewel of a desolate, grieving heart, — a 
child, who for the sake of the dead, and because 
deprived of a mother’s love, is cherished and 
guarded with so much the greater affection, — on 
his face the blessed Lord God writes a passport to 
the love of all good and tender hearts ; and, with 
this divine writing on brow and eye, the little 
stranger would have won your sympatliy too, dear 
reader, and you would ask no longer why you gave 
it to him, since you knew that he was a motherless 
orphan. 


76 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


His young companion seemed to feel something 
of this quiet attraction also, as he wound his arm 
round his friend’s shoulder, and, with an earnest 
look in his frank, honest eyes, said affectionately, — 
But your father — how glad he will be to see 
you to-day! — a day sooner than he expects you.” 

0 my father ! my dear, dear father ! May God 
help me always to be a source of pleasure to him ! 
You do not know, Albert, how anxious I often feel. 
I know full well that all the hope and joy of his 
life rest on me ; and if I should not be what he 
would have me, — I, his only child ” — 

No ; this really is too absurd 1 ” cried the other, 
impetuously disengaging himself from his friend. 
^^He has been a wondrous child; from the first 
day at school, the delight of all the teachers. The 
stern rector himself finds nothing to complain of ; 
and the fellow is afraid his own tender father will 
be in despair about his bad, good-for-nothing 
boy. You promised me, too, to give up all these 
melancholy questionings. It was a pleasure and a 
joy to have your head out of the window for two 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


77 


whole days on the journey, to see your mountains, 
which, indeed, were hidden by the rain-clouds till 
we were right in front of them. At night, you did 
not close your eyes ; and, when the road began to 
ascend, you begged and managed that quarrelsome 
fat man so beautifully, that he actually let you sit 
outside. And just here on the threshold of youi 
home, dear Nordingen before your eyes, you must 
needs hang your head, and take up notions. Come, 
come ; the shadows grow longer : we must not miss 
the stage.” 

“ Oho ! ” cried his companion, quickly withdraw- 
ing his arm, which the other had seized : don’t 
fancy I’m going to clamber into that hot box again, 
and drive over that long road to the Forest Inn, 
where nobody is expecting me to-day, no wagon 
waiting for me. Here, down through these 
bushes, along the wheat-fields, and through the 
alder-swamp. I’ll be at home in a short hour. 
The landlord at the Forest Inn can take care of 
my baggage till I send for it in the morning.” 

“ No, no, Walter ; this plan does not suit me,” 


78 


TEE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


interposed his more prudent friend. “Just see 
how dark it is already in the valley : the mists are 
rising from all the ravines, and might bring you 
into trouble.'^ 

“ Oh, those veil-women ! They never hurt a 
child of the country : they could only be dangjer- 
ous in the chasms to a stranger who did not know 
the way. Don’t you worry about me. Crawl up 
into your coach, and give the stout gentleman a 
fine greeting from me ; but to-morrow, when you 
reach home, and see your parents and sisters, 
and droll little brother, don’t, in your joy, quite 
forget me. I shall tell my father a great deal 
about you.” 

“ Dear Walter,” replied his friend, placing both 
hands on his shoulders, and looking sadlv into his 
face, “ must I get along four whole weeks without 
you ? But on the journey back, the last Monday in 
July, we will meet again at the Forest Inn.” 

“ Very well ; or, still better, up here. Leave the 
coach before you reach the inn, just by the cas- 
cade of the Weiszbach, and strike into the path 


THE WILL- 0 THE- WISPS. 


79 


which leads upwards, on the left of the brook. 
You will get here long before the coach. And here 
you will find me, and my father, who will come so 
far with me ; and juicy pears from our garden, and 
almond-cakes such as only old Bridget bakes, shall 
be here too.’^ 

The merry notes of a post-horn had accom- 
panied the last words ; and now were heard the 
neighing of horses and the rattling of a heavy 
coach in the forest behind the speakers. One 
more cordial grasp of the hand, one more farewell, 
and one of the friends hurried back into the fir- 
forest, towards the stage-coach ; while the other, 
breaking through the low bushes on the slope by 
an unbeaten but well-known path, sprang down 
the giant steps of a stairway formed by Nature. 
Striding between high precipitous walls of rock, 
he soon became the travelling-companion of a 
babbling mountain-stream, which, glittering, and 
shy as a little lizard, slipped forth from beneath the 
stones, quickly gaining power and boldness in its 
course. The frequent thunder-showers had made 


80 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


the little brook so wild and insolent, that soon the 
boy could no longer recognize in its mad roar the 
well-known voice of his old play-fellow ; no longer 
keep pace with the impetuous course of the 
swollen waters. Below, where the Nixenfall 
from its high cliff lets its transparent veil flutter 
ill the Schwarzbach, the edge of the green, rocky 
basin was far overflowed ; and Walter, pressing 
close to the mountain-side, found only here and 
there a wet stone on which he could step, and 
thus pass through the rocky gateway. 

Beyond it, the waters had carried away the 
wooden bridge which led into the opposite fields. 
The stream was too full and rapid to allow the boy 
to cross by springing from stone to stone, as he 
had often done, preferring that way to the more 
convenient bridge. For some distance, he wan- 
dered along the bank, trying to cross, but finally 
determined to go through the forest, keeping to 
the left, and to pass over the Schwarzbach by the 
Nordingen stone bridge. 

The way which he had chosen was longer, and 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


81 


his father had always forbidden him to try it alone 
in the evening; for in the forest were boggy 
places of fathomless depth, which would be very 
dangerous to ignorant or careless people : but 
this evening there was no choice. Walter knew 
the firm path so Exactly ! and, besides, was two 
years older than when he had last received this 
injunction : his father even, had he been there, 
would have made no objection. 

So he turned into a narrow footpath, which, 
leaving the brook, led farther into the forest. The 
excitement of the last few days, which at night had 
kept his eyes from closing, which had driven him 
so hastily up the mountain, and down through the 
narrow gorge with flying feet, on: a race with 
the Schwarzbach, gradually subsided beneath the 
calm and soothing influence of the evening forest. 
Walter himself did not know how weary he was. 
He walked slowly along beneath the trees, and 
thought of the strolls he had taken there with his 
father ; of the old stories about what was said to 
have happened in this part of the forest. A gray- 


82 


THE WILL- 0^- THE- WISPS. 


haired huntsman, who had been in the service of 
the lords of the estate, and was still provided for 
at the manor-house, had told him the most extraor- 
dinary tales. It occurred to the boy that he 
himself was a Sunday child ; that old Bridget had 
confided to him that be was born on Sunday 
morning, just as the church-bells were ringing; 
and that he would, for this reason, see more things 
in the world, and more extraordinary ones, than 
other Christian men with two sound eyes. He 
once had asked his father about Sunday children 
who were born at the sound of church-bells, as he 
was one ; and his father had replied that it was a 
happy thing for children at their birth to be 
greeted with a blessing by the dear church-bells. 
When God the Lord calls his people together by 
the voice of bells, it is that he may give them his 
grace and benediction. And his dear mother, also, 
had heard these sacred sounds as a pledge of 
blessings, and, holding her infant in her arms, had 
thanked God *for the little child which he had 
given her ; vowed to watch over him with truth 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


83 


and faithfulness, and bring him up according to 
God’s commands. His dear mother was no longer 
there : but he was old enough to know God’s will ; 
and if he early tried to reverence his holy will, 
to be vigilant, and look for the gifts of God’s 
grace, the day would not be distant when he 
would see greater and more glorious things than 
other men who had fallen asleep, and could be 
roused by the voice of no bell. 

His father had then taken him to his room, 
where the large, beautiful picture of his mother 
hung, and had told him many lovely things of that 
dear mother, — how angel-good she had been, the 
joy and the favorite of all who knew her ; and how 
dearly she had loved her little Walter. When she 
was in great pain, — and his poor mother had suf- 
fered very much, — it was all forgotten as soon as 
her child was brought into her room. She had 
smiled, played with him, and become a child herself; 
she had spent her last strength in guiding his tot- 
tering feet when he first learned to walk ; and 
dying in a foreign land, in her last hour, when all 


84 


THE WILL-0^- THE- WISPS. 


earthly sorrows had passed away, and she ‘had con- 
quered even the bitter trial, separation from her 
boy, she whispered, with a blissful smile, that she 
heard the church-bells, as they rang when her 
Walter was born, — that they were the morning 
bells of the new day which was breaking. 

The young wanderer had grown very grave; 
his thoughts had carried him far back into the past; 
and, as often before, he knocked with a thousand 
questions, with anxious, dark forebodings and sus- 
picions, at the unknown grave of the mother so 
early lost, whose fate for him was enveloped in 
darkness. His father and old Bridget, who alone 
could give him any information, had withheld all 
explanations, and, when he pressed them with 
questions, referred him to a future day when he 
could better understand. They had spoken of lit 
tie traits of kindness and self-sacrifice, of sim- 
plicity, and affectionate care for others. While by 
this they had done every thing which could 
kindle in the soul of the excitable boy natural 
filial love to a flame of glowing enthusiastic admi- 


THE WILL- O'- THE- WISPS. 


85 


ration, they had omitted, intentionally or other- 
wise, to give a strong background to the picture 
of the saint which they placed in the shrine of his 
heart. The searching eye of the orphan -boy 
vainly wearied itself in trying to snatch his dead 
mother from the shadow kingdom of misty fancy 
forms, and to gain clear, strong outlines of her 
earthly life. 

A long, incurable disease had laid the young 
mother in her early grave : but when his father 
spoke of the great suffering she had borne ; when 
at this quiet tears rolled down the wrinkled 
cheeks of faithful Bridget, and fell on her folded 
hands, — then Walter felt perfectly sure that the 
words had more to convey than an account of the 
bodily sufferings of an invalid extremely ill. His 
mother had not been happy, ^good, and angel-pure, 
beloved, and in death even honored by her friends 
as a saint^but unhappy on earth, — unhappy : and 
yet she had had his father, the model of all possible 
perfection ; and her little Walter, whom she loved 
so dearly. Here was the great life-riddle for the 


86 


THE WILL- O’- THE- }VISPS. 


poor boy, to solve which he would have given 
years of his youth. Old Bridget once, when he 
pressed her with wild questions and fond en- 
treaties, had besought him with tears not to induce 
her to disobey, and break her promise to her good 
master. At such a request, inquiries in this direc- 
tion, and indeed in every other, were cut olf. His 
father’s will was sacred to Walter ; and he felt a 
deep, reverential awe at this secret of the past, 
which for his beloved father also was so full of 
misery. But how would it be now, when, after a 
long absence, he returned so much graver and 
older? Would his father now be more frank with 
him ? Would he. think him worthy of having the 
dark seal of past years broken before his eyes, and 
grant him a clear glimpse of the early life of his 
parents ? 

Absorbed in thought, Walter had wandered on 
beneath the forest’s leafy roof, and did not per- 
ceive that the twilight shades gathered deeper and 
deeper. The path for a short distance now de- 
scended abruptly: it seemed as if the mountain 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


87 


had thrust its last rocky step into the valley. The 
trees here were more scattered, and Walter had a 
clearer view. Directly in front of him, at the foot 
of the slope, lay a luxuriant green meadow, sur- 
rounded by forest-trees; and near by a peaceful, 
reedy pond, which extends a long distance, and 
gliding out of the forest towards the west, yonder 
where the alder-swamps and fields meet, affords 
the Schwarzbach a passage through its quiet 
waters. Only a small portion of the shining water- 
mirror is disturbed by the wild brook. The little 
waves which it dashes up, in quickly shooting 
through, break on both sides against the roots of 
trees along the shore, or skip timidly a little far- 
ther over the cool surface of the water, till the 
reeds which are standing round catch, and, gently 
whispering, lull them to sleep. Here in the forest, 
where the rarely-trodden footpath winds down to 
the pond, lay the water, dark and deathly still. 
Little oak-branches, hurled down by the storm, 
rested as motionless on its smooth surface as the 
broad leaves and white star-flowers of the water- 


88 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-WISPS. 


lily. The weary evening wind had sunk to rest 
with the sun ; the rifted cloud-curtain had closed 
again, and drooped lower; a few faintly-shining 
bands along its edges still reflected the fading 
evening light. The air was sultry: the only sound 
which broke the perfect stillness was the melan- 
choly croak of the frogs, which had given the pond 
its name. Young Walter knew the spot well, and 
had never passed it without a slight shudder. The 
green meadow, a moor covered with the most luxu- 
riant vegetation, was called by the peasants “ The 
Ghosts’ Meadow,” and “ Garden of the Dead.” Many 
years before, a learned botanist, and soon after a 
poor widow from the mountains in search of fagots, 
sinking in, had perished there with her son. All 
sorts of. mysterious hobgoblins were said to cling 
to the spot. The learned man, it was declared, 
who had met his death there, had been a wicked 
heathen, and never entered the house of God, but 
held communion with evil spirits, that still held 
* nightly meetings on his grave. The country peo- 
ple in the neighborhood, when they went alone 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


89 


through the forest, willingly avoided the spot j and 
the narrow path which skirted the edge of the 
moor was rarely trodden. In several places, the 
rapid growth of grass and forest-moss had obliter- 
ated every trace of it. Walter was not afraid of 
the unknown wonders of the forest : he liked the 
feeling of awe which they inspired. The mysteri- 
ous had always exerted a powerful influence over 
him, and the lonely spot this evening spun its 
magical threads round the weary boy. 

It occurred to him, that, if he wished to take his 
father entirely by surprise, he must wait in the for- 
est till it was quite dark. He did not wish to be 
seen as he approached the house, thinking it would 
be so charming to enter suddenly and unexpectedly ! 
Old Bridget was very feeble and timid: he would 
spare her. But his father was accustomed to write 
or read in his own room late at night ; and he would 
creep through the garden, and climb in at the open 
window, as he had done when a little boy: and 
here it was so charming ! here he would wait till 
the night-time. 


90 


THE WILL- O'. THE- WISPS. 


He lay down on the slope beneath a giant 
maple. Pond and moor rested at his feet, side by 
side; the forest wonnd its green wreath round 
both ; and tall reeds, the water’s ornaments, had 
here and there, among the flowers in the meadow, 
raised a long blade, as a warning flag to the 
wanderer not to trust the deceptive ground. J ust 
in front of the boy’s resting-place, the rushes had 
retreated on both sides, leaving a clear view ; and 
the water here entered a little cove formed by the 
ghosts’ meadow thrusting a tongue of land into 
the pond. Framed on one side by meadow-flowers 
and delicate grass-blades, while, on the other, wild 
blackberry-vines and lichens, from the stones on 
the slope, hung dangling in the water, this eove 
had been the retired world of a Water-lily, whose 
bud this day, beneath the drizzling rain, had first 
unfolded. The young flower had as yet passed 
no night in the forest : it rested peacefully in the 
middle of the cove, on its green stalk, gazing forth 
into the twilight, full of wonder and forebod- 
ings. Distant lightning flashed at long intervals 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


91 


through the tops of the trees. On the end of the 
low tongue of land stood the trunk of an oak, 
blasted by lightning. Spreading its last two 
bare, half-burnt boughs over the pond, its dark, 
strange form seemed in the twilight like a giant 
magician, who in long trailing robes, striding 
over the water, and stretching out his lean arms, 
was hurling forth his incantations on the night. 
Behind him, solemn processions of misty forms 
floated over the moor, often appearing to stand 
stock-still ; then winding in and out like hobgoblins 
as soon as the night-wind drew a longer breath, 
and the reeds, sighing, shuddered. A cricket sang 
its evening song; the call of the little screech-owl 
sounded from the thicket. Walter rested, leaning 
his head upon his hand : his gaze dreamily followed 
the airy shapes on the moor ; his thoughts glided 
through each other like the 'floating mists. The 
boy^s eyelids closed ; the straw hat rolled from his 
locks ; and his weary, heavy head sank on the 
moss-covered root of a tree. 

Louder and more sadly croaked the frogs in the 


92 


THE WILL-0’- THE- WISPS. 


pond j much more anxiously the little screech-owl 
called through the forest; while the night-wind 
rose, and shook the tops of the trees violently, 
gliding cold over the sleeper’s burning brow. But 
the boy heard nothing, felt nothing; he was sound 
asleep : and the night-wind sank again to rest, and 
the trees stood still as before. The Summer Night 
had spread her darkest veil over the forest, over 
the ghosts’ meadow and the frogs’ pond. Now and 
then the sound of distant tones was borne on the 
air ; one, two, several, following each other. The 
little church of Nordingen, the beacon of eternity, 
gray with age, counts on its tower the passing 
hours and their vanishing quarters, letting the 
monotonous sermon of the flight of time echo day 
and night through the valley. In daylight, amid 
the bustle of life, its voice speaks to most men 
only of earthly things. Warning and prompting, it 
strikes the ears of the industrious weavers and 
husbandmen of the neighborhood : it sends them 
to labor, and calls them to their simple meal and 
evening rest. But at night, on their quiet beds, 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


what does the old tower-clock say to them ? The 
happy, the healthy, whom sound, peaceful sleep 
holds prisoners, do not indeed hear its voice ; but 
those whose eyes are kept from closing by suffer- 
ing of body or mind, in whose feeble limbs fever 
burns, where sorrow and care and a reproving 
conscience allow the heart to find no rest, the eye 
no sleep, — what are the hour-strokes to them? Are 
they hard mile-stones, by which they, sighing, count 
how short joy and pleasure have been ? how long 
grief, and their rough path through chasms and 
thorns? Do they know that one of these mile- 
stones, perhaps the very next, must be the bound- 
ary-stone of that unknown land whither they are 
going when the joys and sorrows of earth shall 
be forever at an end ? and do they, poor people ! 
shrink from this mile-stone ? Happy only art thou 
to whom this land beyond the boundary-stone is 
neither dark nor unknown, but the land of promise, 
streaming with light, — happy even when convulsed 
by pain ; when grief and care, and even sorrow for 
sin, gnaw at thy heart. Thou knowest thy hope. 


94 


THE WILL-0’- THE- WISPS. 


and feelest at every hour-stroke God’s finger grasp- 
ing even thy poor human life, counting the beat- 
ings of thy pulse, able to still its anxious throbbings, 
and to wipe away all tears from thine eyes, — the 
finger of God, which is raised warningly when 
thou stumblest, bidding thee be vigilant, be faith- 
ful, be steadfast, and hope. 

The tower-clock of Nordingen called again. 
Twelve hollow strokes slowly rang out on the night. 
As the last died away, there rose an extraordinary 
rustling and buzzing, a whirring and crackling, in 
the forest, as if swarms of numberless beetles 
were flying hither and thither, and as if the Wind 
had begun a quarrel with the tops of the giant 
Trees. But the Wind was not awake ; Trees and 
Bushes stood motionless ; and, of the great army of 
winged Insects v^Jiich had pitched their camp in 
the forest for the annual St. John’s drill, only a 
couple of belated Fire-flies were visible, that to-day 
had not been on service. In brilliant court uni- 
form, they were returning home from a country 
ball which the Queen-bee had given in a garden of 


THE WILL-O’-TIIE^WISPS. 


95 


the valley. They might have peered a little too 
deeply into the Elder-flowers ; for, intoxicated with 
fragrance, they were wandering round in the dark- 
ness, seeking their green tent among the bushes 
on the slope. A thousand lives had waked up in 
the forest. Like a bewildering mist, there rose out 
of the damp earth a wonderfully soft tinkling and 
whispering, — forest-chatte rings for delicate elfin 
ears, audible on all sides in the warm summer 
night. Little Grasses and Weeds poured their 
hearts out to each other, complaining of the hard 
day’s work they had had, bearing rain-water from 
early morning for gnarled old Tree-roots to drink, 
and for thirsty little Mosses, which must always be 
by when Oaks and Beeches pamper themselves. 
Holding water is a weary day’s work for wild 
Pinks and quiet Fox-gloves and soft Eye-brights. 

“ Must we stand stooping here late into the 
night, holding great water-drops?” fretfully mur- 
mured the flowers of the Wild Thyme. “ Not even 
the slightest breeze takes pity on us by carrying 
off* our load, and shaking out the water.” 


96 


THE WILL-0’- THE- WISPS.; 

Three tall slender Grass-blades were standing 
by, and shook their delicate heads disapprovingly. 

One cried passionately,-— 

What business have these strong little Thyme- 
flowers to be chief speakers here, and raise a 
rebellion, as if they suffered the greatest wrong 
because all the Winds do not fly by to help them? 
Just see how much more we have to bear ! ” 

And the blade of Grass stood very straight, and, 
trembling, held up in her weak hands a heavy rain- 
drop silver-clear ; her companions meantime crying 
out, — 

See, see ! ours are still larger ! 

And, as they all were trying to hold their bur- 
dens very high, they tottered, and struck against 
each other. Three heavy water-drops rolled to- 
gether, and fell cold on the brow of the sleeping 
boy. 

Walter, frightened, sprang up. He rubbed his 
eyes, and, leaning against the trunk of the maple, 
sat up. The night was no longer gloomy to him : 
with wonderfully sharpened senses, he drew in 








THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


97 


the mysterious life of the midnight forest. The 
buzzing and whispering round him became an in- 
telligible language; Plants and Beetles, like old 
friends : he listened, enraptured, to their private 
conversation, and felt as happy and refreshed as 
a thirsty pilgrim towards whom a reviving draught 
gushes from a cool fountain. 

Walter’s movements, as he woke, and changed 
his position, disturbed the comfortable repose of a 
respectable Frog, that was pursuing his meditations 
among the broad leaves of the Colt’s-foot on the 
shore. Full of anguish and terror, the harmless 
dreamer fled from the unpleasant vicinity of a 
man’s boot, a thing never seen before, and plunged, 
head over heels, into the middle of the cove^^ whose 
waters, dashing up, closed over him, entirely delu- 
ging the white flower swimming on its surface. 
The Fire-flies, thus driven away, had recently dis- 
covered the young Water-lily, and buzzed round 
her with admiration : now they flew to her aid, 
helped shake the clear drops from her white 
leaves, and so made her acquaintance. 


7 


98 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


A strange, smothered cough now sounded from 
the thicket. 

it Why, Professor ! good-evening ! I have not had 
this pleasure for a long time,’^ cried a Bat, that was 
circling in zigzag flight about the burnt-out trunk of 
the Oak ; and, as the Lily and the Fire-flies looked 
round with curiosity, there flashed on them from 
the thicket on the bank the great spectacles of 
an old Owl. * 

“ Have you, too, come to the forest to see the 
manoeuvres ? ’’ continued the Bat. You have 
already missed much. Professor. The Maj^-bugs^ 
parade is over : it was very imposing. The Cock- 
chafers^ regiments have the finest music in the 
whole army, as is well known.’' 

‘‘ I trouble myself much about parades and field- 
manoeuvres,” snarled the Owl contemptuously. I 
have come to the mountains simply on account of 
archaeological studies. Very rare coins of the 
Roman ages must be buried in these mountain 
ravines, and it would be well worth while to find 
them. To tell you the truth, I am on a very 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


99 


scientific journey, in the company and likewise 
interest of my niece the young Owl. The dear 
child is heiress of a large property, which is con- 
tested because her direct descent from the Owl of 
Minerva ’is not sufficiently well established. This, 
however, is no mere family tradition ; and we are 
going to Italy and Greece to collect proofs from 
old coins and sculptures, and to establish the fact. 
Just look at that young lady, most honored sir: 
how proudly set is her little beak ! how intellectual 
her skull ! Oh, noble blood courses beneath the 
feathers of this bird ! 

The young Owl fluttered over the cove with 
faultless grace ; then alighted on the Oak’s charred 
trunk, greeting the Bat with gracious bows. 

“ A rich heiress, and of a good family,” whis- 
pered one Fire-fly to his comrade. 

Yes, yes, an heiress, and of very ancient no- 
bility; but I am willing to writhe myself to an 
inglorious death in the very next spider’s web if 
she is not a most odious blue-stocking. It is in 
the blood, depend upon it. I see already how 
she carries her beak.” 


100 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


And contemptously shrugging his shoulders, so 
that his brilliantly-polished epaulets flashed far 
through the night, the Fire-fly turned away, and 
renewed his homage to the quiet Water-lily. He 
told her all about the Queen-bee’s recent court 
ball, naming the beauties who had been most ad- 
mired, — the deep-red Rose and the Centifolia, the 
pale, melancholy Tea-rose, the Moss-ro"se, the gay 
Burgundy-rose, and the little coquette of Dijon. 
He took great pleasure in telling the innocent 
young Water-lily,. who surely was no blue-stocking, 
and had never had a peep at the world, all about its 
unknown beauties, in seeing her childlike aston- 
ishment, and in answering her naive questions. 

There is no simpler education than that beneath 
the water-mirror of a peaceful, reedy pond, par- 
ticularly when such a pond is in the twofold soli- 
tude of a dense forest and retired mountain valley. 
The Water-flowers which grow up from cool beds 
are humble children of Nature, knowing nothing 
of the vain self-consciousness of Garden-flowers j 
and when the Fire-fly could not understand that 


THE WILL-0* -THE-WISPS, 


101 


the lovely Water-lily had not been invited to the 
Queen-bee’s ball, and when he assured her that 
he would take care that such an oversight should 
soon be repaired, she shook her head, saying that 
a Water-flower pale and scentless as herself was 
not flt for a blooming Rose-garden : she should be 
frightened to death were she obliged to sit like 
Roses among thorns and prickles, on the /tops of 
bushes high enough to make one giddy; and, if 
Bees and Rose-chafers should buzz round her with 
sweet speeches and witty questions, she would not 
know what to answer them. Little Fire-fly de- 
clared that one did not depend at all upon color 
and fragrance at court : indeed, who even knew 
there whether color were genuine ? Family was the 
only thing of value at court, where all Roses were 
entitled to a reception, and she, too, was a Rose. 
He told her that at present two pale French 
women were greatly admired, Madame Hardi and 
Madame Plan tier ; and, more than all, the beautiful 
Southerner, the Centifolia Unica, who was still 
paler than herself. 


102 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


The young Owl on the Oak-stump had listened 
for a while to the conversation between Fire-fly 
and Water-lily, and had thought it very foolish and 
insignificant (she generally found all conversa- 
tion silly in which she was not chief speaker) : 
therefore she was moved to pity, and began taking 
part therein, ridiculing the Fire-fly for having so 
rashly numbered Fraulein Water-lily among the 
numerous branches of the Rose connection, while 
her unmistakable family features pointed out a 
relationship to that much-admired Indian princess, 
who had, a few years before, first arrived in Europe. 
She meant the Victoria Regia. 

Victoria Regia was a very strange name to the 
Water-lily. She flew over, in thought, all her rela- 
tions, known and unknown, counting her eight 
aunts and her twenty-seven cousins on her leaves ; 
but Victoria Regia was not among them. She 
asked the little flowers on the bank ; but even the 
blue Forget-me-nots, that have the best memory, 
could not recollect ever having seen a flower with 
such a grand name. If the vanity of the young 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


103 


Water-lily was not greatly developed, she pos- 
sessed, on the other hand, so much the more th^t 
other natural feminine weakness, curiosity : so, con- 
quering her dislike of the young Owl’s forward 
governess-tone, she inquired further, wishing ex- 
tremely to hear more of the Princess Victoria. 

The young Owl then told a very romantic story, 
— that the Victoria Regia, from love to a learned 
naturalist who had become acquainted with her 
on a journey, had come to Europe ; that she could 
not, however, bear the Northern climate ; that 
only the tenderest care enabled her to live in our 
country ; and that she generally dwelt in won- 
derful glass palaces, and improved her health by 
tepid baths. 

The young Owl had not finished speaking, when 
all eyes turned towards the ghosts’ meadow. 
Yonder, in several places, brilliant little Flames 
shot up out of the soft ground : flickering, they 
skipped and glided over the moor, stood still, and 
then tottered, dying away here and there ; flamed 
up bright again; danced nearer; then vanished 


104 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


suddenly in the ground. Shooting up in another 
spot, they whirled close up to the pond and little 
cove, revolving in circles over the tips of the 
Grasses. 

Oh ! what is that ? who are they ? ” cried the 
terrified Water-lily; and, trembling, she hid her- 
self in her white leaves. 

Hurrah 1 ballet-dancers ! shouted the Fire-fly 
merrily. Charming dancers by night and mist, 
but not from the forest opera's corps dc hallet; 
no Locusts or Grasshoppers ! " 

They must be Hungarian ballet-dancers ! ” cried 
the other Fire-fly : they have come into the coun- 
try with the Gypsies, and like to dance in the open 
air, moonless nights. People call them ^ Will-o’-the- 
wisps,' I believe.” 

And now, as again a slender, streaming Flame 
glided slowly to the very edge of the water, the 
Fire-fly drew his glittering sword, and, brandishing 
it, stepped directly in front of the Flame, crying in 
a loud voice, — 

‘‘ Stand, Will-o’-the-wisp 1 stand ! Speak and an- 
swer : who art thou ? ” 


THE WIL L- O’- THE- WISPS, 


105 


A low tittering was heard ; and, scornfully hiss- 
ing, the Flame vanished in the ground. 

“ Oh ! these are no living dancers,^’ whispered 
the anxious Water-lily : “ they are hobgoblins.’’ And 
as a little Flame once more shot up, and remained 
standing on the edge of the moor, its foot almost 
in the water, the white Flower cried in her 
agony,— 

All good spirits praise the Lord ! ” 

“ Amen forever!” replied the Flame; while, stand- 
ing firm and burning bright, it continued : “ I will 
gladly give you information, and tell you who 1 
am, if I am only asked in a civil way.” 

Tell us what a Will-o’-the-wisp is ? ” thought 
the boy, who was listening under the maple ; and 
he drew still nearer the shore. Shall I find out 
here what no professor knows ? ” 

The young Owl on the dried oak-stump had 
received a modern education of the first class ; 
and, with her little beak scornfully turned up, she 
hopped two twigs lower to hear better. Just a 
few weeks since, in the capital, she had passed her 


106 


THE WILL-0*- THE- WISPS, 


examination as teacher, discoursing learnedly for 
two hours on electricity and hydrogen gas : did 
a stupid Will-o^-the-wisp, then, pretend, in the end, 
to know more than she did ? The Fire-flies settled 
themselves to listen on the broad green leaves 
which were swimming near the Water-lily; and, 
encouraged by them, the Flower took heart, 
addressing the Will-o’-the-wisp in a gentle, friend- 
ly voice. Now tell me, then, who are you, — 
you and your companions ? ” 

^^We are spirits of the dead, souls of extin- 
guished lights. For a short time we served men 
on the earth, from which a sudden, violent death 
has torn us, before we could vanish in ashes, our 
wicks burning to the end. He who suddenly loses 
his life by violence finds no rest in death ; and 
the souls of poor tapers that have been rudely 
dashed to the ground, or cruelly blown out before 
their days were fulfilled, are condemned for a long 
time to wander restlessly round, dazzling and be- 
wildering mortals with a deceitful and unearthly 
shimmer. Such wandering souls of lights are we 
— I and my companions.” 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


107 


“ You have served men ? ” asked the Water-lily. 
“ Oh ! tell me how was that ? I have never learned 
to serve ; have never seen men.^- 

You have never seen men/’ mocked the young 
Owl : you do not even know what men are.” 

Indeed, indeed, I do know about men ! I know 
what the Frogs have told me about the bones of 
a man who was drowned, which have been lying 
in the bottom of the pond for a hundred years ; 
only what the Frogs say is so sad ! And once, a 
long, long time since, eight days ago, I believe, 
when I was a very little Bud, and could not reach 
the surface of the water, a dense, dark shadow 
glided over the pond ; the water rippled round it ; 
and the Frogs said the shadow was a skiff, and that 
there were men in it. How gladly would I have 
peeped in ! I stretched myself up as far as I 
could ; but still I was too little. Once a smiling 
face, with clear shining eyes, bent over the edge ,* 
but just then the oar struck the water, ruining the 
lovely picture the very minute it appeared. The 
trembling waters were driven hither and thither ; 


108 


THE WILL-0* -THE-WISPS. 


and, before they could bring back the picture, the 
boat had passed along. Oh ! tell me much about 
men: I would so gladly learn something new I 

“You will learn nothing from me,’’ said the 
Will-o’-the-wisp : “ and I cannot tell you much 
either ; for my life was very short. I can only re- 
late my own experience, what I myself have seen 
and heard ; but it will not be an improving book- 
story, polished and perfect, with a useful moral run- 
ning through it. It is such a little torn-out piece 
of life, without beginning or end, you cannot do 
any thing with it.” 

“Oh! just please begin, good Will-o’-the-wisp, 
only begin your story,” implored the Water-lily ; 
and the little Flame hemmed, flared still brighter, 
and began : — 

“ I was a Christmas-light. Have you ever heard 
of Christmas-lights ? ” 

“ Have we ever heard of them ? ” mocked the 
young Owl. “We need not fly very far : in the 
nearest ravine the young Firs are standing on all 
the mountain-slopes ; and in the evening, at twi- 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


109 


light, they chatter about their future life, of all the 
splendor a Fir-child is going to enjoy. I was 
really astonished, yesterday, to find how many 
young things there had no dearer wish than to be- 
come Christmas-trees, and be adorned with bright 
Christmas-tapers and gay-colored scraps of paper. 
That they will have to pay dear for this short-lived 
pleasure, that it will bring them death, these young 
Firs do not consider.’^ 

“ The young Firs die a beautiful death, if they 
have been Christmas-trees, and have borne Christ- 
mas-tapers,’’ said the Will-o’-the-wisp. ^‘We Christ- 
mas-lights are a very ancient, pious brotherhood : 
our order is founded on that bright star which God 
the Lord lighted to guide the wise men from the 
East to the birthplace of our Saviour. So we 
stream out upon the night, and would, like that 
star, point mankind to the place of salvation. But 
what do you know, you nightly forest-rabble, — 
Owls, Bats, Trees, and Plants, and even shining 
Fire-fiies in State uniforms? — what do you know 
of that eternal light which shines in darkness, and 
of that star which proclaims it ? ” 


110 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


Oh, stars ! cried the little Grasses on the bank : 
“ they often fall into the pond. Clear nights, when 
the cloud-ciirtain is rolled away, they lie shimmer- 
ing on the surface of the water ; but they are quiet 
and mysterious. We cannot talk with them, and 
do not even understand their language, which is 
Light.’' 

A sturdy, flourishing Oak was standing on the 
slope, having forced its firm root-feet deep among 
the stones, while it wore a lordly crown higher 
and broader than that of the old maple beneath 
which the young wanderer was resting. An Ivy, 
thickly covered with leaves, had twined around its 
trunk, clinging closely to the vigorous tree, and 
winding its delicate green arms round the rough 
bark. With tender hands she now touched the 
Grasses at her feet, asking gently, — 

Do you wish to understand the stars, too, little 
Grasses? A strong, earnest will helps much to 
do so. Look not only straight before you on the 
ground, little Grasses, but try to stand upright ; 
and when you see something here below, shim* 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


Ill 


mering and shining, which you think very beautiful, 
like the star on the water, then raise your eyes, and 
look above, towards that brighter light of which 
the glitter here below is only the reflection. Wish 
to understand, and look above, little Grasses. This 
will make the eyes clear, and open the gates of 
truth.^^ 

Gates of truth ! growled Prof. Owl. This 
thing babbles and teaches, and yet is a very mis- 
erable philosopher.’^ 

But the Will-o’-the-wisp cried,— 

God bless you, dear Ivy I Do not take amiss 
what I said about the forest-rabble. I had not 
seen you then.” 

^^But your story. Will-o’-the-wisp, — where is 
your story?” sighed the Water-lily. And the Will- 
o’-the-wisp shot out several crackling sparks, and 
again commenced its story : — 

also was a Christmas-light. My life began 
on the branches of a Fir-tree, in the middle of a 
great hall.” 

‘^A Fir-tree ! — in a hall ! ” whispered the reed- 
blossoms, and shook their heads incredulously. 


112 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


Certainly, in a hall. A Fir-tree of living green. 
Without were cold winter, a frosty starlight night, 
and the valley wrapped in snow and ice. 

The delicate woman who dressed the tree so 
beautifully with gay sugar-ornaments, raisins, al- 
mond-chains, and stars of shining colored paper, — 
she surely did not go out to the Fir in the snow- 
covered forest.^^ 

Was it really dug up with all its roots asked 
a Daisy on the bank. 

“ It was hewn, Torn from its nourishing root ; 
and, if this caused the tree much agony, it did not 
let the pain appear, but rose as straight, as grace- 
fully, on its proud throne, as if it had grown there, 
and never stood in the cool forest-ground, or 
breathed the damp morning air. The gaping 
death-wound was covered, and entirely concealed 
by the moss-carpet of its throne. On the steps at 
his feet lay his Majesty’s vassals, — Honey-cakes, 
and red and gold-colored Apples. We brother 
Christmas-lights sat on all its branches.” 

“ That must have been a brilliant sight ! ” cried 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


113 


the Fire-fly, if the others shone as bright as 
you.” 

“Yes, afterwards; but, in the beginning, I burned 
all alone. On a far-extending branch, I lighted the 
young lady who was busy here and there, arran- 
ging gifts upon the tables ; for loving men make 
each other presents at the Christmas feast. Just 
beneath me, on a low table, were boys’ clothes, 
toys, and picture-books ; and here the lady had 
most to do. I see her still, and almost hear her 
saying to the servant, who was standing by in 
admiration, ^ Here every thing must look most 
bright and cheerful.’ Why did her shining eyes 
grow sad, as she half hid among playthings and 
candy a little black woollen coat ? ^ A mother’s 

hands would so gladly have something to do for 
the new child ! but I could only embroider his lit- 
tle coat with sad black silk,’ she said, sighing. 
Restless and excited, she went from one table to 
another, glancing often at the clock, and reading a 
letter read many times before. ^ Tick-e-tack, tick-e- 
tack,’ hummed the old Time-piece against the wall. 


8 


114 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


sitting in comfortable self-complacency on a broad 
pier-table, and defiantly planting its short gilded 
feet on the* dark marble slab ; while its face, round 
as a full moon, looked forth from under the old- 
fashioned scroll - covered head-dress with just as 
much indifference, and the pendulum, shining on 
its breast like the star of an order, was swinging 
just as deliberately, as if nothing at all depended 
on ’the hour about to be announced by its snarling 
voice.’’ 

“ Tedious old aunts are such Time-pieces,” in- 
terposed the Bat, who, when flying round men’s 
dwellings in the twilight, had peeped in at many 
windows, gaining much information. They are 
pedantic and extremely wise : the consideration 
men pay to them is really incredible. The old 
aunts Tick-e-tack are everywhere asked for ad- 
vice ; everywhere must they put in a word ; and 
those are considered the very best households 
which are entirely ruled by them.” 

“ The young lady,” said the Wilho’-the-wisp, 
“ was also one who was willing to be governed. She 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


115 


had no power over the obstinate old Time-piece : 
her imploring looks did not induce it to stand still 
or to move more quickly. I do not know in the 
least what she wanted of the old clock. I did 
hear her speaking with the servant about many 
things ; but what they talked of was not cheerful, 
not like Christmas, — something about a dreadful 
fever and death, of parents who had died sud- 
denly, and about two orphan-boys, and of the 
master of the house, who had hurried to the dying 
bed of a friend of his youth, and who would return 
that day. Oh ! then the lady’s lovely face beamed 
bright again. How he would rejoice, after weeks of 
absence, to be at home once more ! how happy he 
would be I And, as she spoke of joy and happiness, 
her lips smiled, and her sparkling eyes turned 
towards a corner of the hall where joy and happi- 
ness lay hidden: in a closely-curtained basket- 
wagon was a sweet little child fast asleep.’’ 

“ A man’s child? ” asked the Water-lily. 

“ Certainly, a man’s child.” 

“ Oh ! tell me how did it look?” 


116 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


Oh ! very lovely. I looked down from my high 
bough as the young mother, smiling, walked 
towards it, and, drawing aside the curtain, bent 
over it. The little head, resting on a white pillow, 
was turned directly towards me ; the small mouth 
was half open ; the cheeks flushed by sound sleep, 
and shaded by long dark silken eyelashes ; pearl- 
drops on the temples j and the fair hair, which the 
little cap suffered to escape, was moist. One arm 
rested on the covering : the other, with the lit- 
tle hand tightly closed and thrown back, was 
round the head. A wonderfully sweet little 
Christmas doll it was. The mother’s hand moved 
towards the small round face, but did not touch it : 
she only let the child’s warm breath play through 
her fingers. As she smoothed the quilt, and the 
folds of the curtain, drawing it together again, a 
low ^ God guard her ! ’ broke from her lips.” 

“ Did you not see the eyes ? ” asked the Water- 
lily : “ the eyes are the principal thing.” 

Oh, how wise you are ! ” cried the young Owl. 

And the Flame replied, “ The eyes were asleep. 


THE WILL’ O’- THE- WISPS. 


117 


And, if the young mother had gone to look at her 
child but once, I could tell you nothing about 
them : but she went often ; and at last, as she 
wished to show the little one to the servant, how 
softly and soundly it was sleeping, and very care- 
fully and gently raised the curtain, two deep-blue 
stars beamed upon her, the little limbs stretched 
themselves, and a smile played round the mouth. 
I heard a cry of joy from the mother’s lips. ‘ Is 
she not sweet? is she not a wonder?’ she 
exclaimed; and joy-drops gleamed in her eyes. 
Oh, what pleasure for us Christmas-lights to shine, 
and be reflected in happy human eyes, and espe- 
cially in children’s eyes, so innocent, and so 
merrily beaming, and yet very earnest, like those 
the infant in its little wagon opened I ” 

The Ivy said, Because souls dwell in human 
eyes, and a light beams there already, clearer and 
better than a taper’s glimmer, you Christmas-lights 
are drawn thither. Light attracts light : in chil- 
dren’s eyes is the purest ray. Very charming it 
is when children’s eyes shine in an old man’s 


118 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


face, and children’s joy throbs in an old man’s 
heart.” 

The Owl uttered a long, snarling sound, shaking 
his head contemptuously, and scratching impa- 
tiently with his sharp claw on the damp stone he 
had chosen for his seat. 

The Will-o’-the-wisp continued : “ As a cracking 
whip, a rolling wagon, and barking dogs, were 
heard in the court, the lady ran to the window, 
the maid to the door, exclaiming, ^The master, 
the master I it is the master ! ’ The young lady,” 
continued the little Flame, “ quickly took her child 
from its wagon, and, carefully wrapping it in a 
warm shawl, flew to the door ; but, on the threshold, 
she gave it to the servant, saying hastily, ^ No, no ; 
you must carry her : I must have both arms free to 
receive my new child.’ Through the bright vesti- 
bule, down the steps, they hurried: the doors closed, 
and I was alone, — alone in the wide ball. With 
horror I perceived how low I had burned : I was 
scarcely half as tall as the dark brothers round 
me. ^ Must seeing and living end so soon? ’ I 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


119 


thought, and held my breath, drawing in my little 
flame to save the wax. I put on a little dark hat 
of ashes and burned wick ; but it would not stay 
on, and, falling on the floor, would have burned a 
hole in the carpet if the maid had not come back 
just then and extinguished it. An old servant 
now entered, and lighted the numerous tapers in 
the sconces and chandeliers, which in their snow- 
white dresses sat very straight and stiflp, and 
looked proudly down upon us. Then came the 
turn of all the brothers on the Fir-tree. I could 
see the tree shining and glittering in the mirror as 
if it had put on a robe of gold and sunshine. 
The maid and the servant spoke of a boy : they 
called him the poor boy, but said how handsome 
and pleasant and good he looked. Indeed, he 
must be good ; for, otherwise, would not the quiet 
woman who had been his nurse rather have gone 
with his little brother, who needed her more ? But 
she cotild not leave this child, they said. Then all 
was bright and ready, and the servants disap- 
peared. Many feet were heard coming up the 


120 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


steps, through the vestibule. In the next room, 
I heard people singing a lovely Christmas-carol ; 
and then the folding doors flew open.’’ 

“ Oh ! who can become a Fir-tree too?” cried a 
little Thyme-stalk. 

Be quiet ; do not interrupt ! ” echoed from all 
sides; and the Will-o’-the-wisp continued : “I saw 
the family on the threshold, surrounded by friends 
and servants. I saw the master of the house still 
in his travelling-dress : he held his little daughter, 
who screamed with pleasure, and, rowing in the air 
with arms and feet, tried to reach the Christmas- 
tree. The young lady led by the hand a boy in 
mourning, lovingly looking down upon him. With 
both hands, the child had clasped her right hand ; 
and, pressing his head with its tangled brown locks 
against her arm, he raised his eyes to her full of 
confidence and hope. 

I flared high till the wax fell in burning drops 
from my wick. I wanted to see everything, 
every thing at once, and was already so short ! 
Hanging diagonally above me was a long net of 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


121 


gilt paper holding a red apple. Oh, joy ! — a golden 
ladder for a dying little flame ! I swing myself up 
from mesh to mesh : the rounds of the ladder turn 
to cinders beneath my fiery feet ; the apple rolls on 
the floor ; and as I, rejoicing, flare up, and a beau- 
tiful cloud of smoke curls over my head, a swift 
hand is there tearing me down, and dashing me to 
the floor, where I am trodden under foot. I have 
nothing more to tell you : my life was over.’^ 

“ Oh, pity, pity ! sighed the Water-lily. If you 
only had let climbing alone, the story might have 
been a little longer.’’ 

Every Will-o’-the-wisp can tell you something,” 
rejoined the little Flame. Ask the others ; ” 
and, flickering, it hopped right and left. A Fire- 
fly flew after it, asking earnestly, — 

Did the Honey-cakes tell you nothing about 
the Queen-bee who gave the ball to-day ? or about 
her most gracious, grand mother, the most sainted 
Queen-bee ? Honey-cakes are generally on ex- 
tremely intimate terms with the government in the 
beehive.” 


122 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


But the little Flame had disappeared, as if 
swallowed by the Night-air ; and little Fire-fly 
had to return without an answer. 

Ask the other Will-o’-the-wisps I ” cried the 
young Owl ; and, because the Water-lily desired so 
much to hear more, the Fire-flies flew hither and 
thither, inviting the restless Lights to come close 
to the shore, and relate their life-stories. 

One little Flame, much fuller and broader than 
the flrst, but with a peaceful glow, glided slowly 
circling from the background of the moor, stop- 
ping often, and seemingly in doubt whether to 
approach the shore. The Fire-flies grew impatient, 
and cried in an imperious -tone, — 

AllonSy Will-o’-the-wisp I No affectation is per- 
mitted here. J ust come nearer, and unpack. 
We wish to hear your life’s history.” 

But they met with no success. The little Flame 
drew itself proudly up, and shot on high a tall 
stream of orange-colored light thin as a reed-stalk ; 
and, contemptuously puffing thick clouds of smoke 
in the air, it turned round instantly. 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


123 


Not an earthly word would Beetles or Owl have 
drawn forth, had not the Water-lily, in such a 
sweet, grieving voice, implored so earnestly, and 
said more than once, “ You are surely the very 
best Will-o’-the-wisp : no other can have such a 
charming history.” This seemed to please the little 
Flame ; and, gliding in narrower circles, it drew 
near again, and at last remained standing three 
feet from the shore. 

This is no friendly, graceful little Christmas- 
light,” whispered the Bat, that was clinging with 
outstretched wings to the charred oak-stump, 
on whose branch the young Owl had settled her- 
self. “ It may have burned somewhere or other 
in a miserable candlestick ; and the Snuffers did 
not keep it under sufficiently strict discipline.” 

“ I burned in a candlestick! I suffer myself to 
be clipped by Snuffers 1 ” cried the Will-o’-the-wisp, 
whose ears were very sharp. “ 0 simplicity I 
I dwelt beneath a pale, white, shining dome : a 
transparent little tower sheltered me from my 
sworn enemy, a draught of air. The lamp which 


124 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


bore me was suspended from the ceiling by long 
chains. There, sitting on my soft wick, I had the 
highest place in the room ; let my light shine on 
every thing therein ; and carried on the govern- 
ment.” 

You carried on the government 1 ” laughed 
the young Owl. “ You were a prisoner yourself, 
shut up in a narrow tower.” 

Oh ! my glass tower was no prison. Are they 
prison-walls which two of my warm breaths could 
shiver ? ” cried the Will-o'-the-wisp, and, smoking, 
again shot on high the thin, orange-colored fire- 
stream. Whiff, whiff I ” 

Oh ! better not smoke,” exclaimed Fraulein 
Owl, hiding her little beak under her wing. It 
makes my head ache.” 

The little Flame crackled scornfully, and, as the 
Water-lily asked, Did you, then, burst your bright 
tower ? ” continued : — 

No : I let it stand. I spared my transparent 
little tower. Oh ! I was prudent. I should have 
died of cold in the draught. November storms 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


125 


raged round the house, and howled in the chim- 
ney, rattling its doors outside in the vestibule. 
The Rain-elfins, chased till they were weary, rushed 
by in wild flight, dashing their wet veils against 
the windows, and longingly pressing against the 
shining panes ; but they could not hold on, slipped 
down, and, mournfully splashing, rushed from the 
window-ledges, along the steep walls, down upon 
the stone pavement of the court-yard. The great 
tassel of the window-curtain stealthily enjoyed a 
little dance : the wind played for it, forcing its 
way through the smallest cracks, and even strik- 
ing at the parlor-door with its rude fist. Even my 
lamp shook gently ; but, in the safe room, I 
laughed at all this frenzy. The house was firmly 
built on blocks of freestone ; and just in the corner, 
where the long wing joined the old principal build- 
ing, was the cosiest little room, filled and stream- 
ing with my light. Directly beneath me was my 
quiet kingdom ; I, ruling with bright eyes, watch- 
ing over all. My wild kinsmen in the iron stove, 
Fire-brands and flaring Flames, have always borne 


126 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


a grudge against me. They hate the calm Lamp- 
light ; boast that they have their own ; and choose 
to shine in grotesque and distorted flashes of 
flame. A blood-red glow they cast in the parlor. 
Crackling and snapping, they insulted me. They 
breathed warmth through the whole room. Waving, 
it ascended to me. Where I was shining, there it 
was. 

^ Most noble Lamp-light,’ hissed the Flames in 
the stove, ^ Lantern-light, are you still alive ? What 
lives on oil quickly consumes its wick. Have you 
no more oil ? Is it hard to breathe ? Treasure, 
is your wick short? Are you anxious about life? 
Current of air, come forth, blow her out, blow her 
out!’ hissed the Flames; while I looked proudly 
down upon them, and showed my contempt by 
gently smoking.” 

“As you ruled the room, you should have 
punished them ! ” cried the Fire-flies. 

“ Puff! I scorned to do that,” said the Will-o’- 
the-wisp. “ But I was governess. The mistress 
of the house would not have trusted the children 


THE WILL’ O’- THE- WISPS. 


127 


to the wild Flames. She gave them to my care 
when she left the room. The children, joy and 
happiness of the house, how I did guard them ! 
Shining, I watched over them, shedding mild rays 
upon them. I showed the little maiden by the 
doll’s cradle that her Lisbeth was not yet asleep. 
She settled herself on her footstool, and began 
singing once more her lullaby about black sheep 
and white. At the round table in the centre of 
the room, just beneath me, the boy was sitting, 
school-books and papers spread out before him. 
I helped him write Greek exercises.” 

“ Oh, what a barbarous word ! ” sighed the 
Water-lily. Is it fit for white flowers to hear of 
such a thing ? ” 

The young Owl flapped her wings compassion- 
ately, and murmured something in her beak about 
prudery and childish narrow-mindedness ; and the 
old Trees, rustling, shook their heads. The expres- 
sion was displeasing even to them, and they knew 
as little as the quiet Water-lily what they ought to 
think of it ; but the boy listening under the maple- 


128 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


tree laughed out loud, rubbed his hands joyfully, 
and looked more cheerful and interested than he 
had done the whole evening. A Fire-fly asked, 
Where did you learn that horrid word, you Will-o^- 
the-wisp of the lamp ? 

He who is light, and, looking round him, sheds 
light, — he need not learn. We lights know and 
understand what we shine upon: I, indeed, per- 
fectly ! The boy wrote the wonderful letters with 
little hooks, little tails, little flags : I gave him 
light for this. He had pronounced a word as the 
little maiden went to the table, and, looking into 
his book with wonder, asked what he was making 
there : writing ought not to look so. He told her 
the word, and then laughed at the little one for 
talking about writing, which she did not under- 
stand. ^ But I can write a little bit,^ the child 
said: ^ I can make ciphers and ones.' — ^ Oh, how 
wise you are ! ' replied the boy ; ^ you can read a 
little too ; ' and, taking a sheet of paper, he wrote 
a word, and handed it to the little one. ^ That's 
I ! ' she cried joyfully. ^ Hannah, this is Hannah, 


THE WILL-0*-THE-WISP8. 


129 


just as you wrote it in my beautiful picture- 
book ! ’ 

Was it a brother with his little sister ? asked 
the Reed-blossoms. 

“Judge for yourselves/' replied the Will-o'-the- 
wisp. “ They looked thus : The boy was tall and 
strong, with serious dark-brown eyes, which flashed 
with manly spirit ; the delicate youthful lips were 
firmly closed ; and the dark hair fell in rich waves 
round his brow. The little girl was half his size ; 
a graceful fairy-child, a snowdrop. Her blue eyes, 
fringed with long dark lashes, were full of sweet 
mischief. Golden tresses were braided round her 
temples, and bound up at the back of her head. 
Is this the way a brother and sister look ? " 

“ Why, surely ! " cried the Daisy. “ Light and 
dark : this makes a lovely pair, brother and sister." 
And the Bat asked, “ Did he not worry her? Bro- 
thers like to tease little sisters." 

“ Wliifi*! " said the Will-o'-the-wisp. “ The little 
girl was playing with apples, which her mother 
had placed there for the children's supper. She 


9 


130 


THE WILL-(y-THE-WISPS, 


rolled them over the table, then laid them by twos 
together, then fixed them in a circle. The boy 
looked at the little one with a charming smile, but 
did not speak. At last, she put all the apples in 
the basket, pushing it as far on the table as her 
little arms could reach, and said, ‘We must eat 
them when you have done your lessons, but not 
before : so mamma told me.’ Then she stood wait- 
ing, with her elbows on the table, holding her 
round chin in both hands. How lovely the little 
creature was ! how gracefully formed the delicate 
transparent features of the sweet face, and the fair 
golden braids in the full brilliancy of my clearest 
light ! A warm, ruddy glow, unsteady, such as the 
flickering flames paint, flew over her. But it was 
not the fire-light which struck upon the child in the 
centre of my shining circle : no, no ; it was another 
reflection. The fresh life which throbbed in her 
little heart threw over her that rosy glow. Im- 
patience and a longing for the apples colored her 
cheeks more and more deeply. A little cloud of ill 
humor already rested on her brow j and the long 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


131 


lashes held a tear, but would not let it fall. ^ Ulrich, 
how long you take ! ^ said the child. Then the 
boy looked up.^^ 

^^Aha!” cried the Bat: ^^now ^tis coming. Now, 
like a good brother, he will put all the apples on 
the highest cupboard ; or else he will fill his pock- 
ets, and laugh at his little sister.^' 

Bats may know a great deal about what goes 
on in the world,” exclaimed one of the Fire-flies j 
“ but, when a Will-o’-the-wi:^p is in the middle of a 
story, I should really think ” — 

Bats,” interrupted the young Owl snappishly, 
have only dim and dusky ideas generally of men 
and the world.” 

“ Ah, indeed I we understand,” said the Fire-fly, 
bowing profoundly to Fraulein Owl. 

The little Flame remarked, ^^It is simply piti- 
able when night-birds will have something to say 
where Light speaks.” 

The boy, indeed, acted very differently. He 
said he was sorry for the little one ; that he had a 
great deal to do that day : but she might eat her 


132 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


apples, and he would make it all right with their 
mother. But the child forced her rosy mouth to 
look pleasantly, and said quickly, ^ No, no ; I would 
rather wait too : do you think I cannot wait, 
Ulrich?^ Then the boy looked at her with a very 
meaning smile, and, taking a beautiful round apple 
from the basket, held it towards her without speak- 
ing ; and I, too, looked at the sweet child, shining 
full on her face with my bright light. Then I saw 
her cheeks grow redder and redder with a dark 
glow like the apple's cheeks, and a purple flush 
rose to her brow ; and very, very much ashamed, 
she hung her little head. The shining red cheeks 
of the apple bore marks of two rows of small 
teeth, which had bitten in quite deeply. The 
child began in a low voice, ‘ She certainly did not 
mean to bite it ; it was the most beautiful apple ; 
she merely had given it a kiss.' — ^ Why,' cried the 
boy, and laughed out loud, ^ one must beware of 
your kisses. I must tell father what sharp teeth 
his little mouse has.' 

* 0 Ulrich I you are ugly ! ' cried the child ; 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


133 


and, seating herself on her stool in the corner, 
she sulked. 

“The blustering Wind roared down the chimney, 
rattling the doors outside continually. The wild 
flames in the stove made the maddest noise, talk- 
ing about every thing. I grew very angry at 
their reckless words and jests : but the children did 
not mind them ; they did not even understand the 
crackling jabber. Little teaser Spirit Spark, that 
lives in pine-chips and damp alder-wood, and, when it 
can burn in chimneys and open hearths, gladly leaps 
forth with pop and crackle from the fire to frighten 
men, was also the noisiest here. Crackle, snap, it 
hopped up and down in the stove, scoffing, at the 
little girl, calling her apple-sparrow. But the wild 
Flag-flame, the one with the long red tongue, 
which had already peered twice through the open 
stove-door, made me very anxious about the chil- 
dren ; for it is reallj^ bad, the child of demons, and 
means no good to man. It has burned at the 
funeral pile, where poor martyrs have suffered an 
agonizing death for their religious faith. Oh ! the 
stories it could tell are horrible. 


134 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-WISP 8. 


“ The little girl had turned her head, and gazed 
at the crackling flames. ^How merry they are I ’ 
she whispered to herself. A bright idea now shone 
in her eyes. She ran quickly to the table, and, 
taking up one apple after another, put them into 
her apron. ^ Really, I will not eat them, Ulrich. 
Please, please, don’t turn round : you will like 
what I am going to do very much.’ Then I saw the 
child busy before the doll’s little cupboard, where 
were her small china-plates ; the next minute stand- 
ing on her stool in front of the stove. She had put 
each apple on a little plate, and then pushed them 
on the hot stove. So she stood watching her ap- 
ples, while I watched her. Oh ! it was well that 
I was there. The warmth from the stove, and 
joyful hope, were tinging her cheeks with a 
deeper and deeper glow. Her braids had become 
loosened, and were hanging down her back. She 
stretched out her white arm, and cautiously 
touched the apples with her little finger to find 
whether they were yet hot. ^Ho, ho, roast ap- 
ples I ” cries little Spirit Spark in the stove : ‘ I 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


135 


can’t allow that. Puff, pop ; they shall burst ; 
they shall burn, crackle, snap I ’ Flames peer 
again through the stove-door, throwing a glaring 
light on the child’s dress and feet.” 

Hearken, Lamplight ! ” interrupted a Fire-fly. 

Then was the minute to do your duty, and pro- 
tect the children. What did you do, you shin- 
ing, listening parlor-monarch and children’s guar- 
dian ? ” 

Oh, how I warned them, crackling and smoking 
till almost out of breath I But if children will not 
hear ? Once the little boy glanced up at me, ask- 
ing sharply, ^ Have you grown foolish, old Lamp ? 
must you puff and blow, too, when the Storm-wind 
has a concert ? It does not concern you : sit still 
up there, so I can write in peace.’ The little one 
at the stove did not look at me once. 

^ Stretch yourself far out, and singe her, singe 
her I’ hissed the Flames. ^ So pretty and so white ! 
Make her hot ! singe her, singe her ! burn her 
black ! ’ they hissed louder and bolder, leaning 
far out of the stove-door. A current of air drove 


136 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-WISPS. 


them quickly back. But now a strong puff of 
wind blusters, scolding, down the chimney, driv- 
ing wildly round in the stove, so that the Flames 
cower, and fly to the corners. The Flag-flame, 
with the long, red tongue, rushes through the 
stove-door, seizes the child’s light apron, which, 
fluttering loose, hangs down from her shoulders, 
and eagerly clutches at the golden tresses. The 
little one gives a scream of anguish. The boy 
springs up, a hoarse cry of terror bursting from 
his breast also. He seizes the burning child, 
quickly tears off her apron, and extinguishes the 
flames, drawing through his fingers the braids of 
hair, up which sparks and crackling flames are run- 
ning. One of her beautiful tresses, and a half- 
burned knot of ribbon, remain in his hand. 

The little one rests in a large arm-chair ; and, 
having placed her there, the boy kneels down be- 
fore her, dries her tears, feels her arm and neck, 
speaking kind and comforting words, while heavy 
drops roll down his cheeks, also blanched with 
fear. 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


137 


There are the parents also. Through the howl- 
ing wind, the child’s cry of agony has forced its 
way to their ears. The little girl springs towards 
her parents, and, throwing herself into her moth- 
er’s arms, cries, ^ Dear, dear mamma, please, please, 
don’t be angry ! I am only a little bit burned : it 
does not hurt very much.’ The mother sits in the 
arm-chair, and, holding the child in her lap, takes 
off the little dress. The thick woollen stuff has 
protected her : a little red spot on one shoulder, 
and another on the arm, are all the injury. The 
little one chats merrily ; says how’ well it is that 
she did not have on her new apron ; and tells how 
Ulrich seized the Flames, tore them away, and put 
them all out. The father clasps the boy tenderly 
in his arms ; while the mother, in tears, grasps 
his hand. She sees him shrink with pain ; sees 
that he has wound his handkerchief round his 
hand; and, taking it off, she turns pale. 

‘‘ I saw them from my shining height lead the 
boy away. The lady’s arm was tenderly wound 
round his shoulder, while the father carried the 


138 


THE WILL'O^-THE-WISPS. 


little maiden. • I was all alone. I was very un- 
happy that I had not been able to give any aid ; 
that the children had not heeded my warning. I 
had no longer any pleasure in shining; and saw 
the wild Flames, which had done the mischief, one 
after another sink to rest. The Spirit Sparks had 
leaped till they were weary too, and now crawled 
lazily through the ashes : only the Wind was howl- 
ing as loudly as ever round the house. The Rain- 
elfins had rushed by : moonbeams fell through the 
rifted clouds into the parlor. The young house- 
maid entered, closed the stove, and raised her arm 
towards my lamp. She turned me round till 
thought failed ; till I was dead.^^ 

“ It was splendid, though, that you were there, 
Will-o’-the-wisp of the lamp, and carried on the 
government,” mocked the Fire-fly. But the Will- 
o’-the-wisp had vanished. 

The poor boy ! ” sighed the Water-lily. What 
might not the bad Flames have done to him ? ” 

A new Will-o’-the-wisp came whirling along, more 
transparent than the others. As it sprang up and 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


139 


down right on the shore, glimmering with a bluish 
light, and circling with a flicker, there sounded 
through the air a soft singing, monotonous and 
low, like a cradle-song. 

Who sings there ? cried the Owl. What 
does this whimpering mean? Have we a child’s 
nurse here?” 

^‘Oh, don’t !” begged the Water-lily; and the little 
Flame on the shore laughed aloud, sprang and cir- 
cled, wanted to speak, but was so full of laughing 
and leaping, that it could And no words. 

It is a Water-spirit,” he finally tittered : a 
Water-spirit sings, bidding me welcome. Some 
sweet little spring, gushing from a rock, has flowed 
into the pond, and must recognize me : it is singing 
my song, — the song which all the Fountain-spirits 
strike up when I approach. My warm breath 
blows upon them, and makes them boil ! 

^‘Hurrah ! jolly ! What a merry life it was under 
the simmering kettle ; dancing in a small space, 
always dancing to the same sweet tune, and hop- 
ping up with a tongue of flame ! Besides, there 


140 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


were the humming and hissing, and a bluish vapor, 
above me. Sometimes I peeped up over the edge 
of the kettle, flickering, mirrored myself in the 
shining silver tea-service, and was reflected in 
clear crystal and gay cups on the white damask 
table-cloth. 

The parlor, a bright, comfortable room ; dark 
tapestries, rich draperies, stuccoed ceiling, and 
beautiful gilding; on the polished oak doors the 
great round knobs, which shine and glitter, — are 
they light themselves ? I nod to them, shoot out a 
flame-tongue, wink, greeting them ; but they stare 
coldly at me. Pooh, beautiful polished brass ! How 
the inlaid floor shines ! how bright the giant flowers 
on the carpet ! 

Happy men live thus, and happy men love and 
cherish the pleasant merry House-spirit, the little 
flame under the tea-kettle, the little hopper, and 
the little springer, with the fire-breath, with hot, 
prickling, restless, throbbing pulses. In the even- 
ing, they arrange a safe place for it on the round 
family-table ; and their hearts open in happy. 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


141 


thoughtful talk and pleasant jests, when the 
steaming water, boiling, bubbles up ; when the 
little kettle chirps and whizzes and hums and 
hisses ; while, shooting forth its tongue, the little 
Flame crackles.’^ 

Stop, stop ! ” begged one of the Fire-flies. 
“ Rest yourself, you pointed, flaring thing ! You 
take my breath away with your springing and chat- 
tering.^' 

“ Have you no more breath ? " asked the Will-o'- 
the-wisp, laughing. Come, dance with me, glitter- 
ing comrade: indeed I have breath enough for two. 
Come, come : you are a gay cavalier ! " Whirling 
round the shore, swift as the wind, it came to the 
stone where the old Owl was sitting. See ! there 
are the brass knobs," it cried joyfully, and darted 
a flaring tongue towards the Professor's great 
spectacles : “ mean brass ; no light, no soul there." 

The old bird, peevish and dazzled, screeched 
loudly, flapped his wings, and snapped at the bold 
Will-o'-the-wisp ; but this was already on the other 
side of the cove, the Ivy calling after it, — 


142 


THE WILL’Cy-TUE-WISPS. 


It must be a long time since you burned in 
men’s vicinity, you wild thing ! What good men 
love and cherish does not flit round by night like 
a mad, teasing kobold, and does not insult respecta- 
ble old birds.” 

“ Lirum, larum, long ago, long ago ! ” hummed 
the little Light. Is it twenty years ago ? — ha, 
ha, ha I Yes, twenty years and more ago, the Ket- 
tle hummed its water-song: then I lived, then I 
burned that one blessed evening long.” 

Why was it such a blissful evening ? ” asked 
the little Grasses. 

“ Because I was so happy. Huzza, I and every- 
body ! You should only have looked in the happy 
faces round me at the tea-table : why, even the pale 
one of the sick lady in the corner of the sofa wore 
a joy-halo ; and how the father’s eyes glistened as 
he sat comfortably in a broad arm-chair, puffing 
merry whifis from his pipe ! ” 

Was there a father too ? ” 

“ Of course, he and she.” 

“ He and she, — ah 1 only two,” sighed the little 
Grasses. 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


143 


Who then was he, and who was she ? asked 
the Water-lily. 

Patience, patience ! you must wait a little. I 
did see something more, — a maiden’s face, deep 
blue, childlike eyes, full of cheerfulness and mis- 
chief. The dark lashes drooped; but, when she 
looked up, deep thought, serious questions, in the 
dusky stars.” 

“ Did she sit at your tea-table ? ” 

“ She sat at my tea-table, holding a silver knife 
in her slender hands, and buttering thin slices of 
bread which the youth cut for her.” 

The youth ! 0 merry Will-o’-the-wisp ! stand 

still one minute. A youth too ? Who, then, was 
he?” 

Ha, ha ! that’s what you wish to know. The 
youth was the chief person : oh the joy ! long, 
long been away ; come home to-day, — come home 
to-day after a long journey. For him the cosey little 
Flame was burning under the singing kettle, for 
him hearts were beating, for him eyes shining.” 

“ Tell us, how did he behave ? ” asked the 


144 


THE WlLL-0'- THE- WISPS. 


young Owl. It is not a matter of indifference how 
chief persons behave.’^ 

“ Indeed, that is a very indifferent matter to 
them ! cried the little Light. My dear youth did 
not think about behaving himself. He sat and 
looked at the maiden, at her hands, at her lovely 
face : when she went round the table with light 
steps, he gazed at her so seriously, so thought- 
fully, as if she were a sweet riddle, which he was 
trying to read.’^ 

But what are riddles ? ” inquired the Water- 

lily. 

“ Buds are riddles,^^ interposed the Ivy. First 
a young plant, little, folded in itself, enveloped in 
curling green leaves ; then the stock rises higher 
and higher; and finally a full pretty bud is cradled 
on the slender stem. You stand before it, asking, 
‘ What ! will it be to-morrow in color and fragrance 
as a blooming flower?^ Yes, sunshine and warm 
summer air solve such a flower-riddle.^^ 

“ Ha ! bravo, bravo ! ” shouted the little Flame, 
and merrily waved flickering bows to the Ivy. 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


145 


This is right, — such she was, a sweet bud- 
maiden in spring’s full growth, growing, growing. 
What will she be when a blooming flower? This 
riddle question was shining in the youth’s dark 
serious eyes : indeed, I understood him well. He 
was dreaming about the little bud enveloped in 
curling leaves. 

“Was he a dreamer?” inquired the young 
Owl. 

“ By no means I No, he was a thinker,” replied 
the little Flame, “ a highly-cultivated, clerical stu- 
dent, — what know I? No book was too thick, 
too old, too serious, for him, too closely sealed by a 
foreign tongue or a profound science : only he did 
not know that children’s shoes are worn out and 
outgrown.” 

“ He did not know that ! ” cried the Daisy, hold- 
ing herself very straight. 

“Indeed!” laughed the Will-o’-the-wisp. “He 
who likes best to talk with the Church fathers, and, 
wherever he goes, asks flrst about old books, and 
not about young people, — how can such a one 


10 


146 


THE WILL-0^ -THE- WISPS. 


at once understand what three or four years will 
make of a little playmate ? Thoughts which are al- 
ways travelling through centuries long past are not 
quick in finding their way into the charming to- 
day. A lovely, charming to-day it was : huzza ! So 
crying, the little Flame turned round, flared, sang, 
and hopped so wildly round the meadow, that 
sparks flew about, and the Water-lily feared it 
would relate nothing further. 

Prof. Owl meantime opened his beak, exclaim- 
ing, “ You have really been a student yourself, 
you merry romp I you know so much of this be- 
loved youth, and speak of him as if he had been 
one of your fellow-students, and vexed you by his 
zeal.^^ 

Ho, hoi la student ? Not exactly. Profes- 
sor ! I would not be the first Will-o’-the-wisp 
that attained such distinction. I sitting on the 
school-bench ! I writing thick pamphlets ! Ha, 
ha, ha, ha! The tea-table was my audience-hall, 
and what I know I learned by listening to what 
was said there.” 


THE WILL-0* -THE-WISPS. 


147 


Did your serious youth speak ? ” inquired the 
1 Water-lily. “ Oh I tell us: what did he talk about 
Much, much, very much, — much more than it 
would profit you to hear : about journeys, and Eng- 
land, whence he had just returned ; about his 
brother, whom he had visited there ; about uncles 
and aunts and cousins.^^ 

About nothing else ? sighed the Water-lily 
dejectedly. “ Oh, yes ! answered the little Flame, 
and thought a minute. He had once known a lit- 
tle maiden, and loved her very, very much : he had 
been her faithful playmate, and had taught her 
many pleasant things, — to jump rope, to roll hoop, 
to walk on stilts ; and, when he went away, she 
jumped upon the garden bench to reach up to her 
tall brother. This was what he talked about.^^ 

“ Who was the little maiden ? where was the gar- 
den? and where stood the bench?’’ cried Grasses 
and Thyme-flowers all together. 

Ho ! how nimbly was the little Flame in the 
midst of them I and, seizing Grasses and Weeds by 
their delicate leaves, he shook them all soundly, 
and hotly flared out, — 


148 


THE WILL-0’- THE- WISPS. 


Will you be quiet ? Will you wait ? Can I 
know every thing? Was I there then?’^ 

The little Grasses and Weeds saw that the lit- 
tle Flame was not really so cross, spite of blazing 
up so wildly. They laughed, and said they did so 
much like to hear about the little maiden ! Be 
quiet, be quiet I cried the Flame. Listen to 
what the youth said. First he spoke of departure 
and the garden bench ; then of return. He said the 
child was missing, the little sister. There was a 
slender young lady in long dresses speaking ear- 
nestly to the servants, and busy in a demure, 
matronly way with dishes, plates, and cups on the 
tea-table. She seemed so new and strange, he felt 
every minute that the chrysalis would drop its 
case, and his little sister flutter forth, and light 
upon his knee.” 

The poor youth longed for his little sister,” 
said the Water-lily. The Will-o’-the-wisp laughed. 

Believe him, if you fancy : I did not believe him. 
Longing is pale. The rogue ! he looked so happy ! 
His dark eyes were shining with joy and happi- 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


149 


ness ; his serious mouth smiled, as if smiling were 
made for it. 

“ The young maiden had sprung up quickly. ^ I 
will not be new and strange ! ’ she cried. 

“The little maiden of the garden bench 

“The bud-maiden, I mean, who buttered the 
bread. Huzza ! there she sits on the foot-stool, 
by her mother, leaning her head with its rich 
braids against the sofa ; and, looking roguishly at 
the young man, she asks, — 

“ ‘ Am I now the old, dear old, little Hannah ? ^ 

“ Had she shining, golden braids ? quickly 
asked a Reed-blossom. 

“With knots of ribbon round them?^^ cried a 
Daisy inquisitively. 

“ Hi, hi, hi ! ” tittered the little Light, and, shoot- 
ing forth a tongue of flame, circled round. 

“ Nothing of this sort ; missed the mark ; brown 
braids, no knots. Yet wait, wait.’^ And the little 
Flame rocked right and left, and slowly, monoto- 
nously humming, said, “ Yes, yes ; so, so it was; the 
youth’s hand stroked the maiden’s head. Then he 


150 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


said thoughtfully, her hair had grown so dark, one 
would not know it : only on top, just above the 
brow, there was still a little of the old golden shim- 
mer. It must indeed have been false gold, as it 
kept its color so wretchedly.” 

False gold ? How ungallant ! ” exclaimed a 
Fire-fly. Hid the little one take it amiss ? ” 

Not exactly I ” cried the little Light. The 
delicate child, the dear little thing! begged he 
would treat young ladies’ smooth hair with some 
respect : such fine things were to be treated quite 
differently. So saying, she drew his hand down, 
and clasped it in both of hers. I peep out of the 
little lamp-cup; flickering, I peer over the miniature 
thing which does not deserve to be called a cream- 
pot, and see on the young man’s hand — oh ! a 
great, great scar. Sweet Hannah sees the scar too : 
her white fingers stroke it gently. Oh, pity for 
the lovely smile 1 all at once it has vanished. Her 
brow droops on his hand, and she says very softly, 
^ Poor dear Ulrich, you have brought home again 
that dreadful scar, and have to bear the penalty of 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS, 


151 


my misdeed, and yet were my deliverer from the 
Flames, and merited a royal reward.^ 

“ Oh, oh ! said the Water-lily ; and the Keed- 
blossoms repeated, “ Deliverer from the Flames ! 
deliverer from the Flames I ’’ and considered them- 
selves very shrewd and sagacious. 

I know something about flickering Flames and 
Fire-brands ! ” cried the Daisy. 

Pooh, nonsense I ” laughed the Will-o^-the-wisp. 

Do not chatter so much ; you chase away my 
ideas : every thing flares, shoots tongue-flames,, and 
whizzes through my brain. You wish to know 
what else happened. The father spoke ; oh, such 
confused talk ! I did not understand it well. There 
was time to think of Ulriches reward. Now, dear 
Hannah must only hold fast the strong right hand 
which has so well protected her, and bethink her- 
self. Only think ! she must consider for a couple 
of years what she will give Ulrich, — perhaps a 
rare medal, a chain of honor, or, best of all, her 
father says, a little gold ring ; for it is right 
that the hand which has suffered so much for 
her should receive the reward.” 


152 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-WISPS. 


Prof. Ow] asked, Did his daughter think so 
too?^^ 

The Will- 0 ^-the- wisp replied, The little one ? 
Oh ! the little one laughed merrily. ^ 0 father ! 
gold and ornaments for Ulrich ! ^ She turned up 
her little nose, and said wisely, No , when I have 
rings and chains, I shall keep them for myself: 
they suit me better than Ulrich, the future most 
reverend Herr Provost.’ ” 

And the youth? ” asked the Owlet. 

The little Flame quivered impatiently. “ Go, go ! 
you know enough. I have nothing more to tell 
you about the young man. He had become silent 
long ago ; but, as the father spoke of rewards and 
a gold ring, he turned his head quickly, and looked 
at him, a clear light shining in his powerful, dark 
eyes. Again there is a question there, — doubt, 
hope, dreams of the future. Why, what is the 
matter ? The father smiles gently at him ; and the 
mother looks tenderly, her eye glistening with a 
tear. A flush rises to the youth’s brow ; and 
silently he looks down, and does not hear what the 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


153 


little one is saying about a wonderfully beautiful 
soft glove, lined with silk, which she will give him : 
the scar can then have a nice time. 

“ Indeed, who could have understood all this 
that they were feeling, thinking, and saying? 
The kettle was sitting so broad upon my nose, 
simmering and humming ; the hissing steam rose ; 
bluish clouds floated out of the pipe ; while from the 
silver tea-pot the maiden poured yellowish-brown 
liquid into the cups. The fragrance of steaming 
flowers ascended, mingling with the other vapors.’’ 

Steaming flower - fragrance ? ” screamed the 
little Thyme-stalks. Will-o’-the-wisp, thou best ! 
Flower-fragrance is cool and fresh.” 

Be quiet, quiet I ” whispered the Ivy. “ Keep 
still, little Thyme-blossoms, so that the Camomiles, 
Limes, and Elder-flowers do not hear you, and 
punish your temerity.” 

The little Flame had laughed loud and con- 
temptuously, quivered and danced, and then 
continued : — 

The fragrant steam of Tea-flowers winds round 


154 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


the crystal cup. Broken into glistening lumps, 
snow-white Sugar lies therein. The vapor of Tea- 
leaves floats over the Sugar, and gently breathes 
this question : ^ Dost thou still think of thy native 
land? — of the glowing sunbeam of the tropics? 
Dost thou know how it, burning, shone on the 
flelds of sugar-cane, that negroes^ dusky hands 
cut down the tall stalks, that black hands flrst 
waited on thee, thou White-sweetness?^ The 
Sugar remains quiet ; gives no answer. The Sugar 
knows very well that the hot sunbeam of the trop- 
ics never kissed its mother, — its mother that was 
once a Beet-root.’^ 

You must prove this, you superlatively wise 
Will-o’-the-wisp ! ” snarled Prof. Owl. “ More than 
twenty years ago a Beet, Sugar’s mother I You 
must flrst prove this.” 

Huzza, huzza I How does it concern me ? ” 
cried the little Flame. “ I am weary : I prove 
nothing. The Kettle above me sang such wild 
tunes, gurgling notes, comical runs, and stopped 
as if breath failed. Then the mother nods to her 


THE WILL-0^ -THE- WISPS. 


155 


daughter, who quickly rises, raises the Kettle, and 
bends towards me. A warm breath floats over me. 
Ho, ho ! is there a design upon my life ? My life 
is a pleasure to me. I will not die : no, I will live 
longer. I am happy in pleasant company. I lean 
back, and, flickering, flght for my life. Wilt thou 
blow upon me, thou lovel}^ child ? I fear not thy 
rosy mouth : I will blow back on thee. Quick ! 
take care ! my breath is warmer than thine. Woe 
to me ! the youth bends over me : flickering helps 
no longer. He blows with strength, — blows me 
out ! 

Alas, alas ! sighed the Water-lily, “ if Lights 
live only to be blown out, life is sad for them.” 

The Will-o’-the-wisp swung itself, tongue-like, 
round in a circle several times ; leaped boldly into 
the air ; then, hiss ! it fell into the pond, and was 
extinguished. 

Again there is a glimmering on the ghosts’ 
meadow. Not far from the shore, a faint little 
Light is quivering: it glides along very slowly, 
stops often, and listens anxiously at every sound, 


156 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


at every soft breath of air. A feeble little voice 
moans, Oh, woe the Wind on the damp moor! 
I, poor little Flame, am dying ; I am dying ! ’’ And 
the little Light creeps behind a mole-hill, there 
hiding. 

This is of no use, this will not do 1 cry the 
Fire-flies. We wish to see you and hear you, 
little Will-o’-the-wisp: you must come nearer.” 

Oh, pity ! ” moans the little Light. The 
Draught, it will not let me : I cannot, cannot come.” 

“Oh, please do help it!” exclaims the Water- 
lily, turning to the Fire-flies, which instantly fly 
to the little Light, declaring that they will give 
protection : it shall go with them. 

“ No, no ! ” cries the little Flame, and shyly 
draws still farther back. “ You have wings, with 
which you blow : you make wind. If you will go 
before to show me a safe path, then I will follow.” 

And so it was. The Fire-flies flew to the shore, 
and the trembling Flame glided slowly after them ; 
but when at the shore, flickering anxiously, it 
glided among the Grasses, was afraid of every 


THE WILL-0^- THE- WISPS. 


157 


waving blade, and continued searching for some 
better place of security. When it began to whis- 
per in a faint, feeble voice, the Water-lily com- 
plained that she could not understand a word. 

Cannot you swim ? inquired the young Owl. 

“ Indeed, I can swim very well,” replied the little 
Light. I have always been used to swimming ; 
but then I had on a firm paste-board collar, and 
sat on a shining little stool that had corks on all 
three legs.” 

^‘Here is a little boat for you, which will do 
just as well,” said the Owl, throwing down from 
her bough into the water a dried acorn-cup. 

“ Has the tedious blue-stocking really had for 
once a bright idea?” cried the Fire-fiy to his com- 
rade ; and, breaking off a delicate flower-stem, he 
seated himself in the swimming acorn-cup, and 
rowed skilfully to shore. There he left the little 
skiff under the protection of the blue Forget-me- 
nots, and flew part way down the slope, where, 
with his comrade, the little Light was waiting. 

Both Fire-flies then encouraged the little Flame, 


158 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


and showed it how to glide down very safely to 
the skiff by a hanging blackberry-vine. Below, 
the blue-eyed Flower-children kindly helped it in. 
And now the little Light sat in the acorn-cup, 
and trembled from fear as the small boat began to 
rock gently. The Fire-flies had summoned a great 
night Butterfly, with splendid sheath wings of 
variegated velvet. The Butterfly flitted close 
to the water, and with its wings created a gentle 
breeze, thus driving before it the little Light’s 
ship. The Fire-flies flew ahead, were very merry 
and in great good humor, and wished by all sorts 
of jests to make the little Light smile, and drive 
away its fear ; but the Flame sat cowering, crac- 
kling softly and timidly, scarcely daring to look 
round. Thus it was borne over the cove, and 
landed near the Water-lily ; while the Fire-flies 
fastened the acorn-cup like a small boat, with a 
narrow grass-blade, to one of the broad swimming 
leaves on which they alighted. 

“ Poor child ! ” said the Water-lily. Now ’tis 
over. Have you been really very much fright- 
ened?” 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


159 


I am not used to sea-voyages/' replied the lit- 
tle Flame in its gentle voice. My bright little 
stool was always quiet. I passed my life in a 
small, cosey room, fenced in by china walls and 
a green shade. No breath, no sound ; an invalid’s 
quiet chamber ; my pale circle of light peacefully 
shining. At twilight, talking with the moonshine, 
— the silver moonshine ; moonlight, and the calm- 
ness of moonlight, on the pale face also. A quiet, 
weary form. I paint dreams for her; weave shadow- 
nets round her sad eyes. She should now be asleep. 

A 

Is she, then, asleep ? A youth sits on a low stool 
by her bed-side, still holding her wasted hand. 
How gently he has spoken to her ! — how beauti- 
fully of dying, of joy in death ! He prayed with 
her till she fell asleep. The young man’s serious 
dark eyes are beaming with peace and faith, — 
that faith which makes dying easy. Ho not angels 
with white wings float down on the moonbeams 
which shine into the room? Whence comes the 
light which is beaming round the sick woman 
and the young priest ? Is she still asleep ? She 


160 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. " 


moves ; her lips whisper a name, ^ Hannah.^ She 
repeats the name often ; she calls her child. The 
youth bends over her. Shall he bring her daugh- 
ter ? No, no ! The invalid smiles ; she thinks a 
minute. It is very pleasant to be alone with 
him, she has still so much to say to him, and her 
time is short. 

‘‘ ‘ Must she, then, really die ? ’ so I ask, full of 
anguish, and gaze around. There stand, in a semi- 
circle near me, the Medicine-bottles tightly corked, 
and with long white beards. They nod silently 
at my anxious question. ^She still has so much 
strength; just hear her speak ^ She dies not 
to-day, but soon ; she has only a few days to live I ’ 
This is tinkled softly back. Here, near me, is a 
mild fever-draught: onlj^ a little remains in the 
bottle. ‘Canst thou not help her?^ — ^ She has 
taken me three times,’ the Flask replies : ^ I helped 
her not ! ’ — ^ But thou, thou dark-brown liquid, 
there is life in thee ! thou foamest in thy bot- 
tle ! ’ — ‘St — St — I have served out ; I will 
moisten her lips no more, — St, St, St ! ’ — ‘ But 


THE WILL-O'-TBE-WISPS. 


161 


thou hast just come ; thou art still wearing thy 
gay-colored hat ; and the warm air of the inva- 
lid's room breathes damp mists on thy cold glass. 
Thou comest with fresh power, and bringest her 
life.' — ‘I bring nothing but myself. She will 
empty me even to the last drop, and yet will die ! 
— she will die, die ! ' I listened again to the con- 
versation by the bedside. The invalid spoke of 
departure, of husband and child, of her Hannah's 
unprotected youth. The young man looked up 
quickly. ^Hannah's unprotected youth, did you 
say, dear mother? Will she not still have a most 
devoted father ? and — and — is it possible, then, 
mother? could my hoping heart so entirely misun- 
derstand you? Have you not, then, and father 
too, — oh ! it was indeed presumption to dream of 
such a thing, — chosen me for the guardian of your 
jewel ? ' The invalid smiles lovingly through her 
tears. She lays her feeble hand upon his head; 
strokes his dark, wavy hair, smoothing it gently ; 
then speaks again. He has rightly understood : 
for many years it has been their ardent wish to 


11 


162 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


bind him as a son-in-law still closer to their house 
and heart, if such a thing be possible. So says the 
mother ; yet this is so far off in the dim future, she 
will not see her daughter in the bridal-wreath. 
Therefore she longs so earnestly, — it is her last 
earthly wish, — she says it will make her departure 
easier, to lay Hannah’s hand in his, and receive to- 
day, through their betrothal, a pledge of the future 
happiness of her children.” 

Unk ! unk ! ” croaked the frogs in the pond. 

What was that ? ” asked the little Flame. 

Be quiet down there I ” whispered the Water- 
lily. There is a story about men being told here, 
and you must not interrupt.” 

‘‘The youth rose,” continued the little Light. 
“ He stood very erect at the bedside ; his breast 
heaved, his cheeks flushed. He looked at the in- 
valid, and wished to speak; yet turned silently 
away, and walked up and down with great strides. 
Was it my faint light which made him look so 
pale? Does one turn pale at offered happiness? 
Glowing with joy, he had listened to the mother. 


THE WILL-0*-THE-WISPS. 


163 


A great struggle is now betrayed by his features ; 
his lips are pressed painfully together ; his brow 
so pale I 

He returns to the bedside, and speaks. I do 
not understand the trembling sound. What then ? 
He refuses, rejects happiness ? Oh, if I had only 
understood all ! He seizes the invalid’s hands, im- 
ploring that she will not by a hasty word disturb 
her child’s sweet peace, nor allow Hannah’s child- 
ish lips to utter a vow before her heart shall 
prompt it. He does not wish to pluck from life’s 
tree happiness which may need the sunshine and 
rain of years, before, fully ripe, it falls into their 
lap. 

The young man was very much moved. His 
speech sounded earnest, impressive, convincing. 
The sick woman said little with feeble voice, low, 
restless, and troubled. He raised his hand. I 
heard him distinctly say, ^ See, dear mother ! here 
is Hannah’s fire-token burned in : the hand which 
has such a charm I will never offer another.’ ” 
^‘Unk! unk! unki” resounded again from the 
pond. 


164 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


Oh, I am afraid ! that sounds so sad I groaned 
the little Flame, and trembled so much that its 
little acorn-cup began to toss like a boat upon a 
stormy sea. 

You can be quite easy,^^ said the Water-lily: 
^‘the Frogs are old friends of mine; only they 
have such gloomy ideas of life.^’ 

And the little Flame grew calm, and continued : — 

Kneeling at the bedside, bending over the sick 
woman, the youth speaks of his love, his hope ; 
tells her how lovely, how good, Hannah is, whom 
one day he hopes to win ; how dear to his heart. 
Oh the mother ! the mother ! I see a flush on her 
cheeks, bright light in her eyes. That is lifers 
glow : she will surely live ; she will yet see the 
happiness of her children. 

The Bottles jingle : again there tinkles out, 
'Death-glow, Fever-flush! Hearest thou nothing ? 
Seest thou nothing ? The fever, the fever is com- 
ing back ! ’ 

" Alas ! I heard, I saw ! — heard the death-watch 
tick in the wall, heard the rustling of broad wings. 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


165 


Far behind, in the gloom of the corner, far beyond 
my pale circle of light, something is stirring, flut- 
tering, flapping pointed, bat-like wings ; gray mist- 
veils are waving ; the air so close, so damp ! It 
comes along, its head concealed : high up in a 
broad circle it floats round the room, seeking shad- 
ows ; then clings to the bed-curtains. A hard claw, 
hot and fiery as glowing iron, is thrust out, clutch- 
ing them firmly. Oh, woe ! what a face grins out 
of the gray folds, pale, distorted, with staring 
eyes and tangled hair! Ha! draw the veil over 
it. Again a face looks out ; now blooming youth, 
roses and smiles and shining tresses. One more 
face, still another, and even yet another, — all 
alike. Whole rows of them, borne on waving 
gray veils, float and dance round the sick woman’s 
bed. 

Does not the youth see it ? The pointed wings 
hover so close above the invalid ! the fiery claw 
lies so heavily upon her breast ! The young man 
has placed his hand upon her brow, anxiously 
listening to her restless breathing. 


166 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


side-door opened softly: a light step, a 
lovely maiden^s figure. Charming, and cheering as 
a sunbeam, she glided in : her small hand takes 
hold of the bed-curtains, and a sweet voice asks, 
^ Has my dear mother been asleep ? ’ The blue 
eyes look uneasily at the sick woman, and anx- 
iously questioning at the silent youth. She seats 
herself on her small stool, and carefully arranges 
her mother’s covering. 

^‘Oh, woe I there it flies!” shrieked the little 
Flame. Do not you see the pointed wings, the 
gray*veils ? ” 

What flies ? who ? where ? ” cried all together 
the terrified Water-lily, Beetles, and Weeds. 

The Fever flies : do not you see it ? up yonder 
towards the great tree.” 

Yes, they saw a dense gray shadow — was it not 
a small cloud ? — gliding away from the ghosts’ 
meadow, by the tops of the trees. It vanished 
among the dark branches of the old maple. The 
young wanderer under the tree felt a breath of 
warm air blowing over him ; gray veils floated 


THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


167 


before his eyes, broad wings rustled round his head. 
He struck with his stick at the great Bat ; and the 
shadow-phantom dissolved in drops, and deluged 
the boy wdth a sudden shower, which made 
marrow and nerves shiver with cold. He thought 
the gloomy night-bird had stirred the maple’s 
damp foliage, which had poured down upon him 
the ice-cold rain ; but the Screech-owl screamed in 
the thicket, and the Frogs croaked louder than 
before. Then he heard the Water-lily ask, — 

What has become of the little Will-o’-the- 
wisp ? ” and saw the empty acorn-cup swimming at 
the end of its grass rope. 

The light is gone, is out ! ” cried the Fire-fly ; 
but the Daisy asked, — 

Has it not left a little pile of ashes in the small 
skiff?” 

Do you think the spirit of a Light dies like a 
pastille ? ” croaked the Owl. This does not die if 
it is extinguished : it may, off yonder, already 
have come to life again.” 

In the background of the ghosts’ meadow a 


168 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


bright dazzling light was kindled. A wreath of 
sparkling lights, shining in all colors like a dia- 
mond’s rays, was floating over the moor. Coming 
nearer, it melted in the night air. Broad beams and 
rays fell oft' like single leaves and flowers, tot- 
tered round on the moor, and scattered again in 
numberless colored flames and scintillations. These 
formed themselves into line ; and, sparkling like a 
string of jewels, they wound in and out, forming 
fantastic figures and arabesques. 

The Water-lily and the Fire-flies, Ivy and Black- 
berry Vines, Reed-blossoms, and all other specta- 
tors, expressed their rapture. Even the young 
Owl, who in general was much too cultivated ever 
to admire any thing, cried, “ Superb !” but coughed 
immediately, and looked stealthily round to see 
if any one had observed how much pleased 
she was ; and, holding her little wing before her, 
she yawned very loudly. 

The little colored Flames, in a row, had seized 
each other, and danced a round dance : dancing, 
they came to the very edge of the little cove, 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


169 


where, stormed by the forest^s night-company with 
questions and entreaties, they agreed to narrate 
the adventures of their lives. Separating, then 
again uniting in the dance, they glided through 
the copse on the slope, hovered in the air, and 
hung like sparkling fruit on the branches of the 
hazel-bushes, till finally they rested in shimmering 
groups on the damp moor. 

The Water-lily gazed upon them with admira- 
tion, and could not wait for them to speak ; the 
Owl let his green spectacles roll round, and in- 
quired if they came from the Orient, the land of 
light and dazzling sunshine, from the enchanted 
palaces of Scheherezade, or from the bewitching 
glowing poems of Persian minstrels. 

No ; far, far from sunlight,” replied a shining 
little green Flame: children of shadow and night, 
we were born not far from here. Where the forest 
ends, and the shadows spread still broader, 
beneath linden and plane trees, in dark chestnut 
foliage, there we had to live and flicker. Where 
the stately old mansion, with bright, splendid win- 


170 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


dows, looked down from the terrace, and servants^ 
flying feet hurried over the broad granite steps ; 
where the elms whispered in the evening wind, 
and stone sea-gods let the wild brook’s imprisoned 
water splash in shallow marble basins, — there we 
shimmered and shone, numberless colored fete- 
lamps, among the park’s dark trees.” 

A dazzlingly-bright little Flame, flashing with 
red fire, said quickly, “ There were many thousand 
glowing red roses ; and thousands of White-lil}^- 
cups were filled with fragrance and night-dew. 
Brilliant, joyful life was stirring in the broad 
walks, — beautifully-dressed women, noble men, 
youthful charms and youthful presumption, ma- 
ture earnestness and dignified worth, gay groups 
of dancers on the soft velvet carpet of closely- 
shaven turf. 

Crackling among the trees, in high fire-cups, 
flared tongue-like, pine-wood torches. There was 
the sound of merry music, — the trumpet’s clear 
shrill fanfares, the noisy kettle-drum, and the wild 
playfulness of lively violins : thoughtful basses 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS, 


171 


hummed between, besides a childish ringing of 
cymbals and little bells. Another little Flame, 
violet-blue, with a pale dim glimmer, interposed 
sadly, — 

“ The roses faded, oh, how long ago ! Since that 
evening the dark firs in the park have grown very 
tall, and strewed many brown needles on the 
ground. The statues are weather-stained, over- 
grown with moss; the wild water flows not through 
the obstructed pipes, but seeks its own path, and 
has formed two islands in the park. Oh, twenty 
years is a long, long time ! The Weeping-willows’ 
branches droop in the brook, and the green 
branches of Life’s tree are withered.” 

“ How feeble and dim you look, like pale moon- 
light ! ” scolded the little green Light. “ Has the 
West- wind brought you any more sad news from 
the valley ? I would fain favor your dance with 
him on the tips of the waving grasses ; but, if he 
always makes you melancholy, I shall interrupt 
your gossiping hour.” 

Is it really twenty years since that fete was 


172 


THE WILL-(y-THE-WISPS. 


given, and since we were there ? cried the little 
red Flame : it seems to me like yesterday. Oh, 
what a fete I joy and pleasure echoed through the 
cool gay park ; the sweet perfumes of Migno- 
nette and Gillyflowers, which had slept during the 
sultry day, awoke, raised their merry wings, and 
flatteringly followed the promenaders ; and, oh 
the company ! smiling lips, shining eyes, wherever 
I looked.” 

And gravely-closed lips, and sad drooping 
eyes,” softly murmured the violet-blue Light. 

“ But what was the fete ? ” asked Fraulein Owl : 
was there a wedding ? ” 

Woe ! oh, woe I ” moaned the little blue 
Flame. But the green one replied, “ I heard noth- 
ing about a wedding. I saw no bride with 
wreath and veil, yet many wonderfully lovely 
maidens well worthy to wear such ornaments.” 

“ And many youths manly and bold, who had 
courage enough to win a maiden’s heart.” 

Yes, indeed, one above all,” cried the little 
red Flame, brightly glowing with a ruby light as 


THE WILL-0*-THE-WISPS. 


173 


it continued: was as tall and stately as a 

young silver-leaved Fir-tree when it wears on all 
its branches Spring’s smiling green. His dark hair 
seemed as if bathed in sunshine, his black eyes 
sparkled with pleasure and the fire of life, while 
round his lips there played an enchanting smile ; 
his voice was like music ; and, in the dance, he flew 
over the green grass-plot as if winged, and borne 
by the wind.’^ 

Yes, that one,’^ said another Flame, burning 
with a dazzling golden light, ^^had come over the 
sea, far away from England, to visit his brother. 
Relations had come with him, — two lovely cousins 
and their noble mother. Did you not see the 
graceful Island daughters, and the fine golden web 
of their long silky locks ? 

I saw them,” answered the green Light, saw 
them like shadow-forms, as I saw little clouds near 
the evening star. My evening star, the star of the 
evening, was another maiden, the loveliest of all 
deep-blue child-like eyes in her sweet face ; on hei 
brown tresses she wore a wreath of corn-flowers.” 


174 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


I saw her dancing with the young stranger,’^ 
cried the little red Flame. He danced only with 
her.’^ 

saw her sitting on the stone bench with 
him/’ cried another ; and a third exclaimed, — 

I saw her with the young man, merrily talking, 
glide away from the dancing-ground, through the 
Kose-bushes.” 

“ I heard every word they said to each other,” 
said the ruby-red Light. “ The giant Lindens which 
bore me were near enough.” 

And the Yiolet-blue repeated, The giant Lindens 
which bore us were near enough. I heard also 
what they were talking about ; and, alas ! another 
heard too.” 

“ Who was the other ? ” asked the Owlet. 

A tall, grave young man, who was leaning with 
folded arms against the trunk of the old linden 
beneath me. Jessamine-bushes, from which the 
white star-flowers had already fallen, concealed 
him from the others; but his eyes flew over the 
whole spot, and rested on one face alone, with dark- 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


175 


blue, child-like eyes beneath a wreath of corn- 
flowers. But ah ! no smile could conjure on his 
lip^such magical attraction.’^ 

I saw the pale dreamer also,” said the golden- 
colored Light. “ A Fire-cup stood very near, and in 
the flaring Flame little teaser Spirit-spark was 
springing and hopping : it seemed to me, that, in 
the excitement of the fite^ it was bantering the 
grave man in perfect wantonness, jabbering the 
most perplexing stuff. ^ See, are you so deeply 
burned ? is pain gnawing you ? Ah ! stifle it I you 
can indeed extinguish it. Ho ! water here ! that 
quenches love’s spark, quenches, quenches ! Ho, 
ho ! ’ Crackling and hissing, it took great leaps, 
springing now on his shoulder, now in his hair : 
he heeded, felt it not. There, pop ! ’tis sitting on 
his hand, — a burning bite from the spiteful spark, 
which hurts. He shrinks, and looks gloomily down 
on his hand, on a deep old scar.” 

Did you see his melancholy smile ? ” asked the 
violet-blue Light. 

“ Oh I but just tell us what those two among 


176 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


the Rose-bushes had to talk about/’ implored the 
Water-lily. 

The little red Flame quickly answered, — 

“ Ay, gladly, if I only knew : jests and laughter, 
happy childish nonsense. A Rose-bush has caught 
the maiden’s flowing dress. The youth extricates it 
from the Thorns; but, in doing so, the dress is torn. 
The maiden scolds the rude Thorns. He replies, 
the Rose-bush is not to be blamed for wishing to 
fetter her : he only wonders that it ever let her go. 
But she thinks the Thorns should have behaved 
more gently : it is a great pity about the torn dress. 

A twig has been broken from the Rose-bush 
too,” says he. “ See here ! do you think, if one 
had ever caught and held you fast, he could tear 
himself away and release you without wounds and 
pain ? ” 

“ Did you hear that deep-drawn sigh beneath 
the Linden-tree ? ” asked the little blue Flame in a 
whisper. 

‘^The youth stooped,” continued the other, “and 
plucked from the broken twig three fresh half- 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


177 


open roses. He handed them to her, saying she 
might herself see that she was enough like the 
roses to cause a mistake, and should think it par- 
donable that the Bush had thought her its rose. 
They were light, delicately-tinted flowers, only 
flushing within with a faint color maiden’s-blush,’ 
men call the rose) ; and there she stood, a perfect 
likeness of this lovely flower the sweet maiden-rose, 
before the youth. Embarrassed, she drooped her 
dark eyelashes, held the roses in her white hands, 
and had pulled them to pieces before she knew 
what she was doing.’^ 

Are, then, men so cruel to poor flowers ? 
asked the Water-lily. 

^^The youth, too, said it was cruel,’^ replied the 
little Flame, “ to destroy the beautiful roses with- 
out mercy. ^ Thus they should not die, should not 
be trodden upon,’ said he ; and, picking up the 
delicate leaves, he threw them into the flames of 
the Fire-cup near by.” . 

Did he burn the poor flower’s limbs?” cried 
the Water-lily, horrified. 


12 


178 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-W ISPS. 


“ A heathenish funeral-sacrifice/^ said Prof. Owl, 
laughing with great enjoyment. 

The green Light then spoke : The lovely 
maiden stood slightly withdrawn in the shadow: 
but the tongue-like Flames ^hrew varying, dazzling 
lights on her white, graceful figure ; and two dark 
eyes were gazing ardently on her. She had turned 
from so much warmth and brilliancy, and did not 
perceive that from out the shadow of the Jessa- 
mine-bush, very earnestly and questioningly, two 
other dark eyes were fixed upon her.’^ 

How anxiously the Nightingale in the thicket 
warbled I sighed the blue Light. 

The maiden said she was afraid of Flames. To 
ravage and destroy she thought sad work,^^ so 
spoke the golden-colored Will-o’-the-wisp, and added 
that “ the youth praised Fire with eloquent lips. 
There was a part of it in all great and beautiful 
things, in brilliant minds, in noble heroic souls, in 
wine, in precious stones, in strong passions. Oh, 
glorious, glorious was a Flame-life ! so bright and 
so warm, flashing, dazzling ! What matter if it were 
short, and, in dying, left nothing but ashes *r '* 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


179 


A dark cloud gathered over the park : we 
rocked gently in the trees ; a puff of wind rushed 
through their tops/^ said the little violet-blue 
Flame in a monotonous tone. 

Yes : that was just at the time/^ cried the ruby*- 
red Light, that the fair girl with the soft locks 
appeared. Teasing, she asked, ^ Shall I seek another 
partner, Clement ? our dance has already begun. ^ 
And, amid jests and laughter, he was carried off ; 
while the maiden wearing the wreath of corn- 
flowers walked slowly through the bushes — 
^^And suddenly stood in front of the lonely 
dreamer,^’ interposed another little Flame. 

‘ Ulrich,’ she cried, ‘ here you are at last 1 ’ 
The tall grave man asked doubtingly if she had 
been seeking him. ^ No,’ she replied, laughing, and 
inquired absently whether he had not danced. 

^ You know, Hannah, I never dance,’ he an- 
swered gently ; and she bethought herself of his 
priestly office, and felt that it was a great pity 
that he would not dance that day, even if not 
generally.” 


180 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


Oh, yes I I know what she said/^ cried the little 
red Flame. She leaned upon his arm, exclaim- 
ing, ^ 0 Ulrich ! you do not know how charming 
it is to float and glide along to the sound of music 
among these beautiful green trees. And the fra- 
grance of these Lindens — do you perceive it, dear 
Ulrich ? Did you see the Evening-clouds, before it 
grew so dark, — ^the small, light Evening-clouds, 
sailing along the sky, so fiery red, as if it made 
them joyful, too, to see so many happy people 
here below ? ’ 

“ Thou poor, poor, happy child ! sighed the 
violet-blue Flame. 

The green one said, She looked him full in the 
face with a sumiy smile. He returned her gaze, 
clasped both her hands, and pressed them ear- 
nestly, but said nothing. ^ 0 dear, dear Ulrich ! 
were you ever at such a splendid fSte P Summer 
never before was so green and fragrant. Oh ! just 
speak, Ulrich ; rejoice also ! ' ” 

The little blue Light gently breathed out, 
How pale he was ! He stifled the deep sigh in his 








f 


V 




THE WILL-O^-THE-WISPS. 


181 


breast, and asked, ^ Are you so heartily joyful and 
happy, dear Hannah ? ’ 

^ Happy and joyful with all my heart,’ she 
answered, and drew a long breath,” cried the red 
Flame. wonderful light was in her eyes.” 

Tears were flowing beneath the Linden-tree 
too ; I heard a low sob,” murmured the little dark- 
blue Flame. 

Yes,” said the green Will-o’-the-wisp. Sud- 
denly she turned pale. ^ Ulrich, Ulrich ! ’ she 
cried anxiously, ^you are staring before you so 
gloomily ! You think, do you not, it is not right to 
be so cheerful, if one, as I, only a few weeks since 
was wearing mourning for a dear mother? ’ — ^ No, 
Hannah, no ! indeed, I do not mean that,’ he 
replied, and gently drew her towards him. She 
laid her head upon his shoulder, and burst into a 
passionate flood of tears. She moaned: if she 
could but once look into her mother’s dear, dear 
eyes ! She had never felt so orphaned as now, 
in the midst of all this joy. He comforted her 
with gentle, brotherly words ; and she ” — 


182 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


Ah ! and she suffered herself to be comforted/^ 
interposed the ruby Light. She dries her tears, 
and smiles once more. She has so much to say, and 
does not always require an answer. How sweetly 
she could flatter when she wished him to grant a 
request ! She would like so much to learn to ride 
like Ellen and Maria ! Clement will give her a 
lesson in the morning, if the guardian of her con- 
science, her Ulrich, — the grand permitter of all 
good and innocent things she calls him, — if he 
thinks she may, and will speak to her father about 
it.^^ 

She prayed so sweetly, did you say ? asked 
the Bat. “ It has often seemed to me that praying 
was a difficult task to men.^’ 

I do not know whether it was a difficult task 
also to the lovely maiden, or if something else 
troubled her. But I hung quite low in the Lin- 
den-tree, and heard her heart beating, and saw 
how often she stopped to get breath. The pale 
man read the imploring request in her eyes per- 
fectly; saw her standing, flushed and trembling. 


THE WILL-0' ’THE-WISPS. . 


183 


before him. How lovely she was ! yet he re- 
mained unmoved. He had been silent so far ; but 
finally asked, very seriously, ^ Do you know what 
your mother thought of ladies riding, Hannah?^ 
She knows very well her dear mother thought it 
was very dangerous. But what safe horses her 
father has ! ^ Brown Alcydor is gentle as a lamb.^ 
Brown Alcydor, he replies, was there two years 
since, when he returned from his travels, and 
wished so much to take her a little excursion on 
horseback among the mountains. ^ Yes ; but 
that was then Ulrich,’ she rejoined. ^ Just think, 
’tis Clement : mother surely never would have re- 
fused Clement.’ — ^ Are you so sure of that, Han- 
nah ? ’ he asked in a hollow tone.” 

“ The thunder rolled faintly among the moun- 
tains,” said the little violet-blue Flame. Did you 
hear it ? did you hear it ? and did you see ? As 
the maiden raised her drooping eyes, they were 
full of tears. ^ Ulrich, Ulrich ! ’ she cried, ^ I see 
our charming plan falls through. Oh ! do not look 
so sadly at me. You cannot believe that I will dis- 


184 


. THE WILL-O^-TIIE-WISPS. 


regard my mother’s wishes when you remind me 
of them.’ Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. 
She seized his hand imploringly, and said softly, 
‘ You will tell your brother, will you not ? that we 
cannot ride. Please, dear Ulrich, tell him : I can- 
not.’ 

‘^He sighed deeply, and nodded assent. She 
heard steps, and departed to conceal her tears.” 

Ah, my merry comrade, dear Clement ! ” cried 
the ruby Will-o’-the-wisp, “ there he was again ! It 
did one good to look into his shining eyes. Ho 
asked his brother where Hannah was, and scarcely 
heard the answer, as he must needs scold Ul- 
rich in a friendly way for never having told him 
what a wonderfully sweet angel his sister was. 
* Hannah is not my sister,’ replied the other. No, 
certainly not ; he knows that : but the name sister 
is so sweet ! He could envy him also the familiar 
^ thou ’ with which she addressed him. ^ If you 
stay here longer, Clement, you will scarcely find 
that I am much to be envied,’ was the answer in 
a hollow tone.” 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


185 


His brother did not see how pale he was/^ 
said the little blue Flame j ‘Mid not see the 
struggle in his features.^^ 

But the red Flame asked, “ Indeed, are you sure 
of this ? Merry Clement, laughing, declares that 
he would not change places with his grave 
brother. A grand, brilliant model his dear Ulrich 
may be, but quite unattainable perfection. Melo- 
dious words stream from his lips while he praises 
his brother ; and yet, he says, must he, with all Ul- 
riches priceless learning, virtues, and dignity, take 
also his insensibility and his heart’s coat-of-mail ? 
He would rather remain the lightly-strung, easily- 
impressed, and easily-wounded fellow that he is. 
If wounds are painful, there is balm for such 
suiffering.” 

“ Enough enough ! ” interrupted the other little 
Flame, the golden one. “ In a word, he found fault 
with his brother as cold and unfeeling, because he 
had passed years under the roof with such a fairy 
as Hannah, and never thought of winning her 
young heart. Then the other asked, ‘ Who told 


186 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


my lightly-strung, light-hearted brother that I 
never thought of it ? ^ ^ Oh, indeed I Ulrich 

accomplishes what he undertakes ; and, because 
I see that you have not won Hannah, I know you 
never tried to touch her heart.^ 

^ What do you see ? what do you know ? ^ 
asked the pale man. ‘Why, Hannah is as frank 
as a child,^ laughs his merry brother. ‘ Her whole 
behavior plainly declares how she regards you: 
she treats you as if you were a dear, highly- 
esteemed old uncle. ^ 

“ There was a flash of lightning ! could that 
have made the man so rigid, so ghostly pale ? 
asked, then, the blue Flame. “ In the shadow of 
the Trees he walked up and down : in his eyes, 
alas ! and in the deep shadow on his brow, could 
be read what his soul suffered, what a terrible 
battle was raging within him. A groan passed 
through the forest.” 

“Yes, the Trees began to rustle,” cried the 
green Will-o’-the-wisp. “We were rocked gently, 
and thought the Wind had come only to play with 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


187 


us. Lovely Hannah, who was again at the height 
of bliss, came up the grand avenue with such a 
light, happy step I How Clement flew to meet 
her I She sent him as a speedy messenger into the 
house. She was carrying a basket of flowers in 
her hands, and beneath the Linden she stepped in 
front of pale Ulrich. There he remained stand- 
ing,’^ continued the green Flame, and looked 
kindly at her ; but the marble pallor of his brow 
yielded to no warm sign of life. ^ He must help her 
tie up bouquets for the last dance very quickly. 
Those which had been arranged before were 
withered. About it at once ! ’ As if dreaming, he 
took the flowers from the maiden’s hand, and said 
— said — He spoke about the Flowers, — oh, so 
long I I know not what he said ; did not under- 
stand, and do not remember it.” 

did not hear it at all,” cried the red Light ; but 
the dark-blue Flame said, He spoke so slowly, with 
such emphasis, I heard and remember every word. 
He said this : ^ Flowers, flowers, Hannah ? When 
you wish to cultivate flowers, let not the flower of 


188 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


earthly happiness be among them. Gather them 
when you find them in your path, and God grant 
that they bloom full and fragrant ! but plant them 
not in your garden with your own hand. Be wise ; 
reckon not, count not, every leaf on the young 
plant, every new shoot ; and rejoice not, as if sure 
of the flower, when you only see the bud : indeed, 
when you think it will bloom to-morrow, and stand 
before you a beautiful flower, a frost comes over 
night, or a strange hand tears it up, with all its 
fibres and roots: this causes pain. The flower, 
Hannah, which only God plants, the Lord, in secret 
places, as and for whom he will, — this, with all 
our gardening art, we cannot cultivate.^ This was 
what he said. The maiden stared at him. She did 
not understand, but exclaimed, ^ How strange you 
are to-day ! how extremely solemn ! — not at all 
my dear old Ulrich ! ’ 

Huzza ! the Storm-wind 1 cried the yellow 
Light. He tore through the dark Tree-tops, 
shaking them violently : this was no longer rock- 
ing. The gay-colored lives of many of us he blew 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


189 


out; and those wliich the Storm spared were 
drowned, or struck dead by large rain-drops. What 
availed it, even to the great Pine-torches, that, 
crackling and snapping, they fought for their lives 
with despair? The Music ceased, and crept 
quietly away ; the Thunder-storm had sent all the 
guests into the mansion. Huzza ! what confusion 
there was ! how the servants flew ! Then the 
wild Rain-elfins danced on the deserted Grass-plot, 
rushed pattering through the leaves of the Trees, 
and assembled on the broad Gravel-walks.’^ 

The green Flame asked whether the light-red 
Evening-clouds had become so eager to dance as 
they gazed on the merry fete below ; whether 
they had invited all the dark Clouds to meet each 
other. Draped in slender Water-streams, perhaps 
they themselves were among the dancers; but who 
would ever recognize them who had seen them 
before against the evening sky ? ” 

No love of dancing raised this Storm,” replied 
the dark-violet Flame : this was a serious and 
significant thing. He only who rules the weather 


190 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


can know why the rejoicings were stilled, and the 
Joy-tapers did not burn to an end. Now other 
Lights shone, pale ones; and other voices were 
fearfully loud. The rocks and the earth shook ; 
every thing, trembling, bowed, only not man’s dar- 
ing mirth. Behind the glass windows, another sea 
of light was shining : soon the merry sounds of 
Kettle-drums and screeching Trumpets reached us 
through the gloom and tempest. I lived through 
all this: the Linden’s thick trunk had protected me 
from the Storm-wind ; the leaves formed green 
eaves for me. 

Over the dancing Ground, and over the Rose- 
bushes, through the waving silvery veils of the wet 
dancers, I saw a part of the manor-house, the 
gloomy pavilion, and the old terrace with the stone 
arcade. Through the bright windows, the Music 
came with a smothered sound. I heard the anx- 
ious notes of a Bugle-horn that was not happy 
in the dancing-hall, longing for the fresh Night-air 
and rustling Trees. The Wind went down at last ; 
the rain fell with a monotonous sound. Monoto- 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


191 


nously echoed a man’s heavy tread up and down 
the wet Gravel-path. I knew the pale brow, the 
drooping head. He heeded not the Rain, which 
rushed down on him through the leaves. Several 
times he pushed the wet hair from his face, then 
stood still with folded arms. I saw him raise his 
dark eyes to the night-sky, which was veiled by 
black clouds. Not a star was visible ; and yet, as I 
gazed longer in his eye, it seemed to me that he 
had seen a star. The signs of a struggle had 
passed from his features, his breast heaved, and 
he walked slowly towards the house : I saw him 
disappear through a dark side-door. 

I was the only little Flame that was still alive 
in the midnight park. The Linden-leaves above me 
began to stir. I saw a heavy drop hanging over 
my head ; and I — I saw nothing more.” 

“That was indeed a long story,” sighed the 
young Owl ; and, yawning loudly, she fanned her- 
self with her wing. “ I have become very warm 
in listening to it.” 

“ Oh, it was lovely I ” exclaimed the Water-lily. 


192 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


“ I didn’t, indeed, exactly understand it all : still it 
was very beautiful.” 

To understand stories perfectly, my child, one 
must have some experience of life,” remarked 
Fraulein Owl. 

Prof. Owl had sat quite still for a long time, 
thoughtfully pressing his claw against his curved 
beak : then he shook his thick head, and declared 
that the flower of earthly happiness was entirely 
unknown to him ; he had never met with it on his 
travels in foreign lands; neither in books nor 
herbariums : Linnaeus also knew nothing of a 
fortuna terrestrisy 

“ And wherefore Latin, pray ? ” cried a Fire-fly. 
“ By its Grerman name, we know it very well, I and 
all my comrades ; only each calls it by a different 
one, — ‘ property,’ or a ‘ rich wife,’ ^ great prize,’ 
^ advancement,’ ‘ successful career,’ &c.” 

Advancement and successful career are cer- 
tainly German flowers,” remarked Fraulein Owl 
snappishly. 

The other Fire-fly, however, whose soul had a 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


193 


higher flight, said, Earthly happiness is no flower, 
but a fresh green tree: Laurel and Myrtle .are the 
right names.’’ 

But all were silent as they again looked towards 
one side. Where the gay-colored, shimmering 
Lights had been talking and burning, it was dark 
and still ; only just below, close by the water, a tall 
bright Flame was burning on a wet Stone. How 
it had come there, nobody knew ; and no one could 
believe, that, like the other Will-o’-the-wisps, it had 
slipped over the moor : it stood very erect, with 
dignified bearing, peacefully burning, and shining 
with a pure light. As all gazed at it, full of ex- 
pectation, and each felt shy about addressing it, 
the Flame itself broke the silence, and, in full, 
deep tones, said slowly, — 

I was a Light in the church.” 

“ A Light in the church? ” interrupted Prof. Owl, 
snarling loudly. “ Then it remains to be settled 
what sort of people suffer you to pass for a Light 
in the church after your death. In what century 
did you then live, my most worshipful Ignis-fatuus ? ” 
18 


194 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


In the nineteenth century, Herr Professor ; but 
you mistake me. During my life’s day, I was an 
altar-candle.” 

Oh I then I beg your pardon ; that, indeed, I 
did not suspect,” snuffled the Owl. “ Still it would 
have been a very piquant little story if deceased 
church fathers had hopped round in fens at night 
as Will-o’-the-wisps.” 

The Flame looked at him seriously, and was 
silent, but, after a pause, continued : — 

“ On a hill, in the midst of a broad, blooming 
valley, stands the little old church. The forest- 
wreathed Mountains, with solemn rocky crowns, 
there form a semicircle, and have gazed for many 
centuries on the gray child of the valley, the 
monument of an old, godly age. Above it were 
the sky’s blue arch and the soft summer air, while 
the hot beams of a June sun played among the 
lindens at the church-door. Within the sacred 
building it was cool, dim, mysterious. Neither 
Trees nor Mountains gazed into the holy place ; 
only the bright eye of God’s sun penetrated 


THE WILL-O’-TIIE-WISPS. 


196 


through the high, painted windows. The small 
panes glowed dark and fiery, breathing wonderful 
color-mists on the old gray stones. On both sides 
of the altar, and extending to the door, rise strong 
slender columns, which, high and graceful, support 
the vault : they do not uphold it as a heavy ceiling 
which presses upon them, but raise it in their 
strong arms easily, as a gift which Love joyfully 
offers, and would fain bear higher and nearer to 
the heart of Him who is the object of its adora- 
tion. 0 sacred grandeur of the house of God ! 
even thy silent walls breathe peace^ and holy rev- 
erence watches at thy threshold. 

“ The altar was adorned with fresh roses : on a 
carpet of roses stood the cross, from whose top 
the Saviour’s mild face looked down. Near by 
were two tall Lilies, snow-white and fragrant, — 
strange festival ornaments; and the worn flag- 
stones of the middle aisle were strewn with 
flowers. The fresh Garden-flowers gathered in 
the coolness of early morning, and the two Taper- 
flames on the altar, were the only living things 


196 


THE WILL-0^ -THE^WISPS. 


within the quiet old walls. Where were the hands 
that had raised these columns ? 

‘How many candles had burned and been extin- 
guished here ! how many blessings been given ! 
The lips which had spoken them, the heads which 
had bowed in devotion to receive the church’s 
blessing, the hearts which had prayed here, — how 
many of these hearts were still beating ? It was 
still and desolate among the vacant seats; and 
without, framed by the pointed arch of the open 
church-door, I saw among green trees many old 
weather-stained grave-crosses and waving grasses, 
and many flower-mounds lately raised. How many 
are buried there who once sat in these seats I 
and those who will pray here to-day ? There are 
still many vacant places outside in God’s acre.’ 
Quietly burning, thus dreamed an Altar-candle; 
when, from the tower above, bells pealed solemnly 
forth, and the simple inhabitants of the valley, in 
holiday dress, came winding along the church-path 
through the fields.” Thus spoke the Flame. 

A.nd the Water-lily said, “ Ah 1 it was well that 


THE WILL-0* -THE-WISPS. 


197 


people came, and that you did not remain alone in 
the quiet church.’^ 

The Flame then continued : — 

I saw many pleasant faces waiting without at 
the church-door : darkly bronzed, bearded cheeks 
beneath straw hats ; and many good women, with 
clear, truthful eyes, leading children by the hand ; 
and inquisitive heads of maidens, with long 
tresses, who were all looking towards the old wall 
of the park which adjoined the churchyard. The 
trellised gate stood wide open; and, through 
the park’s shady walks, a procession approached 
slowly and solemnly. The tones of the bell die 
away ; the organ opens its sacred lips, and pours 
forth in God’s house the rich notes of a saintly 
old hymn ; pealing, they float through the quiet 
building, rise, and re-echo from the vault above. 
Noiselessly a small door has opened. I hear steps 
in the side-aisle, and see the young clergyman 
approach the altar. What harm have the flowers 
done to him ? He turns pale at their sight, and 
his lips quiver in agony; but, drawing a deep 


198 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


breath, he stifles the pain, ascends the steps, raises 
his folded hands to his breast, and silently prays. 
I heard many steps in the church ; a rustling of 
dresses, whisperings, buzzings. I saw a stir, a glit- 
tering of colors, yet only in a mist like a dream- 
picture. My watchful Flame-eye gazed on the 
quiet worshipper, and saw him only. I saw how 
his breast heaved : the light of victory was on his 
brow, and in his upturned eye a bright reflection 
of holy peace. It seemed to me that the quiet 
breathing of his prayer had endued the columns 
wuth life ; as if the gray stone expanded, rose 
higher, while the arch above grew broader, 
clearer, transparent ; as if, borne up by organ-clang 
and prayer, it ascended, opened. A beam of light 
broke in : then ‘the organ was silent. I heard the 
clergyman’s voice, deep and full, resound through 
the church : he had turned, and, standing erect, 
looked full of seriousness and gentleness on a 
youthful pair on the steps of the altar.” 

A bridal pair ! ” cried the young Owl. “ Was 
there, then, really a wedding? ” 


THE WILL-0*-THE-WISPS. 


199 


“ Unk, unk, unk ! sounded again from the pond ; 
and the boy beneath the maple felt a cold shiver 
creep over him. 

“ The young clergyman had to bless a marriage- 
bond/’ said the Flame. “ Two young hearts beat 
high and blissfully: and God’s blessing, by the 
mouth of the priest, should now sow their golden 
happiness for eternity ; give duration to the sweet 
dream for a long life on earth, and for that beyond 
the grave. Such holy hopes I read in the blue 
child-like eyes of the lovely bride, as she raised 
them shyly, yet full of heartfelt confidence, to the 
young priest. She trembled slightly at the solem. 
nity and serious earnestness she saw upon his face. 
The sacred importance of the hour in which she 
stood here, before God’s eye, she felt as never 
before ; and, pale and trembling, she leaned on the 
arm of her betrothed. The tall youth looked so 
excited and happy, so glad ! Confidently he took 
her hand, as if it were only necessary that he 
should hold the delicate hand in his to give her 
security and strength.” 


200 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


The strong hand which knew so well how to 
protect you, hold that fast,’^ whispered a Forget- 
me-not on the bank to herself; and cried im- 
ploringly, “ Oh, say ! did you see a scar upon his 
hand?’^ 

“ I saw a scar,^’ replied the Flame ; but not on 
his — on the priesFs hand was the scar.’^ 

Oh, poor, poor hand ! said the Water-lily. 
And the Ivy spoke : — 

Where scars are, grief has gnawed and grown 
quiet. Full and deep sounded the priest^s voice : 
said you not so ? ” 

Yes ; strong and full,’^ replied the Flame, ^^came 
from his lips the words of his text, — words of the 
prophet, he called them: ^They who wait upon 
the Lord shall renew their strength ; they shall 
mount up with wings as eagles: they shall run, 
and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not 
faint.’ ” 

“ Did he speak these words to the youthful pair 
who stood before him, radiant with hope, in the 
vigor of youth and fulness of joy ? ” asked Frau- 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


201 


lein Owl. ^^The pale man should have preached 
them to himself. 

‘^He stood upon a rock/^ replied the Flame. 

The glorious light of victory was upon his brow ; 
but happiness and rosy cheeks — these need a firm 
stay, that they may neither fail nor fade. There- 
fore he warned them with deep fervor to seek that 
support which would sustain them in eternity. 
The rings were then exchanged, and he pro- 
nounced a marriage-blessing.’’ 

When the rings were exchanged, and the 
bride saw the scar on the priest’s hand, how was 
it then?” asked the Ivy. 

^^When they exchanged rings, the bride saw 
nothing else ; and, even if a hand close by, it was 
the dear hand which should wear her ring : it was 
a smooth, handsome hand, and bore no scar. 

The organ pealed once more ; a triumphant 
hymn of praise resounded in full waves within the 
ancient walls. Then it was over ; the singing 
ceased ; the organ suffered the melody softly and 
faintly to die away. The bride lay gently weep- 


202 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


ing in her father's arms. I saw greetings ; heard 
kind wishes ; people pressed and thronged towards 
the door ; the sexton approached the altar ; the 
ceremony was at an end." 

“ Always the scar, — the scar upon the hand I " 
murmured the listener beneath the maple. “ I 
know a hand with such a scar ! " 

And this was a wedding ! " cried a Thyme- 
stalk. ‘^1 fancied a wedding was merrier." 

A bright Light, lightning-like, passed over the 
moor. Two Flames, tall, slender, and dazzling, 
were near the shore. One rose and bowed, rest- 
lessly flaring : the other danced round it in grace- 
ful waves, and cried merrily, Hither, hither, who- 
ever wishes to hear any thing from us ! Listen 
quickly! we last not long." Then, gliding close 
to the water’s edge, it leaned lightly against the 
root of a tree, and continued : — 

I was at a ball, and will tell you all about it." 
A Fire-fly exclaimed, We see that you have been 
at a ball : you are a good dancer." 

“0 sweet freedom!" cried the Will-o’-the-wisp; 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


203 


and brightly breathed, Sweet freedom on a damp, 
wide moor ; to be free from wicks and candle- 
sticks ; to be able to dance and hop on a green 
meadow ; to dive and swim in fenny water ! Do 
you suppose I dared to dance at the ball ? Sitting 
bolt upright and quiet the whole time ; held by a 
tenacious wick ; running down from it, yet never 
reaching the floor; flickering longingly, and con- 
suming one^s self with ardent desires, — this is the 
life of a candle.’^ 

“ Where was the ball ? who gave it ? asked 
the other Fire-fly.’^ 

Ay, who gave it ? repeated the Flame, and 
looked round for her companion, who blazed up 
brightly just behind her. Who gave it, then ? 
Why, perhaps the Water-nymph, who gave every 
thing among those beautiful mountains. The men 
who danced there were all her guests, and had 
come from far to draw water of miraculous power 
from her spring. I did not, indeed, see the Water- 
nymph at the ball, — the hall was so large, the bril- 
liant, gay-colored throng so great. I do not know 


204 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


that she gave the ball. We were both at the fete^ 
— I and my sister here. In the dancing-hall, on a 
broad pier, was my place. In a bronze sconce sat 
three of us, young, streaming little Flames, flaring 
with the joy of life, and with desire of dancing, yet 
banished to the wall. Just ask the youthful daugh- 
ters of men if it is a pleasure to sit quietly against 
the wall when sweet, enticing strains invite to the 
dance. Open windows were near me : the fra- 
grance of Orange-flowers, and the cool Night-air, 
streamed into the heated hall. Intoxicating as 
Music is the fragrance of Orange-flowers. Young 
Flames willingly hear that he loves them ; and as 
he whispered, flatteringly caressing them, both 
of the other Tapers soon forgot the dance and 
the people. Not I. I looked towards the wide 
entrance-door : I saw the guests arrive, long lines 
of them.’^ 

“ Name the guests ; show them all, all to us,’^ 
cried little Grasses and Weeds together. 

“ About one single pair I will tell you,’’ said the 
Will-o’-the-wisp, — ‘Hhe crown of the fUe. The 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


205 


hall is a sparkling sea of light : a rustling of 
silk-dresses, soft buzzing of many voices, sweet 
strains of music, and cool streams of flower-fra- 
grance, mingle together confusedly ; while below 
throng the gay-colored crowd of guests. I gazed 
on all the brilliancy from my height ; and a thou- 
sand Sister-candles, in groups along the walls, and 
oil chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, looked 
on also. It was so bright down there ! The wide 
doors flew open : they entered, — on the arm of a 
tall, dark man, a slight, delicately-formed woman 
of extraordinary grace. All eyes turned towards 
her ; all Sister-lights blazed up more brightly, and, 
beaming, gazed down upon her. Did they make 
her so bright? The brilliant Light glided down 
from the white folds of her silk dress, shimmered 
in golden sparks on her brown tresses. She was 
pure and bright as a dew-drop, as a diamond, 
bathed in light and beaming with light. Softly 
shone her blue child-like eyes, as, simple and unem- 
barrassed, she sufiered herself to be led in, not per- 
ceiving how admiringly all eyes rested upon her.’^ 


206 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


“ Did she wear corn-flowers on her brown tress- 
es ? ’’ inquired a little Grass. 

No : she wore white roses on her breast. Her 
beautiful head had no ornament save its rich tress- 
es. That dark ornament was almost too heavy for 
so delicate a form : her neck was slightly bowed, 
as if beneath a burden which oppressed it.^^ 

A youthful head which carries no burden but 
braids droops not/’ remarked the Ivy. 

Said I, then, that she bore no other burden?” 
asked the Will-o’-the-wisp. Oh I as she drew 
nearer, I saw shadows on her brow, and fine 
lines round the lovely mouth, which knew sor- 
rows. The tall, slender man at her side was as a 
dark setting for the bright jewel. I saw he prized 
her, his lovely wife. He was proud of her : a smile 
of triumph played round his lips as he led her 
through the crowd. Oh ! he looked distinguished 
and stately: his black eyes flashed imperiously. 
How finely chiselled were his noble features ! ” 

The other Flame broke in wildly, crying, “ Trust 
him not, trust him not His smile brings death : 


THE WILL- O’- THE- MHSPS. 


207 


tlie fiery sparkling of liis black eyes causes so 
much pain ! But the former, scolding, cried, — 
Back, back ! I will not suffer you to throw 
spots on my lovely pictures. I am Light, and will 
speak of light. If you wish to paint with shad- 
ows afterwards, you may. I saw how kind and 
careful he was ; that he led the beautiful woman 
to a chair just beneath me, cautioning her about 
the draught, — enemy of Lights and Men. I saw 
greetings ; and soon they were surrounded by 
other guests. An old gentleman approached, — a 
friend of her father’s youth. How kind and cor- 
dial she was then ! — the lovely young woman. 
Partners were presented : her husband urged her 
to dance, and she gracefully consented. The 
charming music resounded, and she was led off. 
Then I saw her turn quickly round : very pale, she 
steps to her husband’s side; and, full of anguish, her 
eyes glance up at him. She lays her hand upon 
his arm, and speaks in such an imploring voice, as 
if her life depended upon the answer, ^ Clement, 
will you not dance too V — ‘ Certainly, my love. 


208 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


later. I must first speak to a few of my friends 
who must be here.’ He smiled also ” — 

^‘He smiled? — only with his lips?” cried the 
other Flame. “ He promised ; but did she believe 
his promises ? How was it? What did she? ” 

She sighed deeply and bitterly,” replied the 
first Flame ; pressed her hand against her breast ; 
and, walking through the hall, she seemed no' 
longer like a sparkling diamond. With a pale, 
faint lustre, she rather resembled a noble pearl. 
Then she floated along in the dance as lightly and 
easily as if borne by the wind : the white silk 
folds fell shining round her. Indeed, I forgot the 
pleasure of dancing in the pleasure of looking at 
her. She rests, and her wandering eyes search 
through the hall. Suddenly a ray of joy flashes 
from their blue depths : she sees her husband 
leaning against a column ; sees how kindly he nods 
to her. After every d8wice, her eyes search again ; 
after every dance, they search in vain: the place 
by the column is vacant, and, through the wide 
hall, she greets no beloved eyes. 


THE WILL-0'- THE- WISPS. 


209 


Again and again she floats along in the dance. 
How sad she looks now ! how pale ! In the rapid 
waltz, one of the white roses on her breast has4 
lost its leaves : the white leaves flutter round her ; 
borne by the draught, they fly after her. Is she 
not the white flower whose faded leaves have 
dropped? and how wearily her head droops! I 
see what no other sees : two clear drops fall on her 
roses : strange hot dew is that. Then I hear her 
stammer a few words to her partner: it is too 
close in the hall ; she cannot bear.it. She takes the 
arm of her father’s old friend, and begs him to lead 
her out : she will walk through the other rooms.” 

Oh, carry her far away, if she suffers so 
much I ” exclaimed the Water-lily : bring her to 
us in the quiet forest, we love her so dearly I ” 

The Ivy said, Many years have glided away 
since that evening: and years make the heart 
still ; yes, deathly still.” 

Deathly still I ” repeated softly a weary Echo 
that had waked up in the valley ; and Unk, unk, 
unk ! ” sounded from the water. 


14 


210 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


^^Ho, ho! lights here ! more movement!” cried 
the second flashing Flame, whirling wildly nearer. 

. “ Call the Storm-wind, pile up the Waters, 
shake and toss the Trees ! Hear me, hear me ! 
hear what the Flame-soul says. I despise still 
gazers, still water, still trees. Motion, movement, 
is life ; change is life. Lifers breath is passion ; 
ha ! blazing, sparkling passion ! ” 

Ha ! thou art wild ! ” exclaimed the Thyme- 
flowers : we think thou comest, too, from the ball.” 

“ From the ball ; yes : not from the dancing-hall. 
Dancing is not the only thing which makes hearts 
throb and cheeks glow. Sweeter than music 
sounds the chink of gold. A small quiet room, 
retired : the music in the distance is only faintly 
heard. The initiated are here together : they do 
not avoid the hot, intoxicating draught; do not 
avoid the fever of passion, or the wild, destruc- 
tive battle, which they, smiling, fight, — the bat- 
tle for the rolling ball of Fortune. Here are the 
lists. Woe to the vanquished ! and woe, woe, to 
the victor ! 


THE WILL- 0^- THE- WISPS. 


211 


On the table I was burning : gay-colored cards 
and gold-pieces lay upon it. Men sat there, com- 
batants : their heated breath passed over me. 
With hurried grasps, first one seized me, then 
another, pushing me hither and thither. Oh, how 
flushed they were ! A Flame-soul understands the 
deep fire in their eyes, the eagerness which 
quivers round their lips. Alas ! woe to the Flame 
that it does understand I Where gold and cards 
roll together, there lurks a lie in the nearest 
corner; ice-cold selfishness rigidly erects itself, 
and with its hard hand wipes out of the counte- 
nance gentle human feelings. Demons lurk in the 
shining gold-pieces, and in the cards also. They 
have terrible power over the weak hearts of men : 
maliciously they wink at the players, bewilder 
and insnare their senses. Oh, how passion blazes ! 
how it glows in the dark eyes of the tall, slender 
man ! how it throbs in his weak, human heart ! 
From a well-filled purse, he pours gold out on the 
table : his hand stirs among the shining coins with 
uneasy pleasure. A golden circle glitters on the 
same hand, — a wedding-ring.’^ 


212 


THE WILL- THE- WISPS. 


A wedding-ring ! woe I sighed the Ivy. Is, 
then, this sacred sign no shield against the demons 
of play ? no all-powerful command to flee them ? 

Oh ! he played, he played,” continued the Will- 
o’-the-wisp. “ The gold-pieces before him became 
fewer ; the fire in his black eyes burned wilder 
and more gloomily. The greater the risk, the 
greater the pleasure. 

“ Then I saw near the open door behind him, 
leaning on a gentleman’s arm, a white, airy shape 
glide by : it returns, leaves its companion’s arm, 
enters, and passes over the floor with fairy steps. 
Ha ! how I flash and wink ! Back, back, thou 
white, heavenly figure ! What wouldst thou, here ? 
Oh, stay far away ! She heeds not the sign of the 
Candle-flame, — that woman pale as death, and beau 
tiful a,s an angel. She stands behind the player; 
staring in the pier-glass opposite, sees him and 
herself. Men are standing round the table : a seat 
is rolled there for her. She thanks them with a 
slight movement of her head, but remains stand- 
ing. 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


213 


He plays and plays, shuffling the cards with 
skilful hands; scatters them like gay- colored 
feathers ; and throws the gold, as if it, too, were 
cards and feathers. Oh wild, glittering game of 
many colors ! Has she any pleasure therein ? She 
only gazes in the mirror on his pale face, his lips 
convulsively pressed together, his noble features 
disfigured, distorted, by passion.’’ 

The Ivy whispered, “ God created man in his 
own image ; in the image of God created he him.” 

read in her blue, staring eyes,” continued 
the Will-o’-the-wisp. Oh ! Flame-souls willingly 
read in the eyes’ light. In those blue stars is 
burning anguish. She opens her lips ; would speak 
his name : her voice fails, and he — he feels not 
the soft breath which glides, whispering, through 
his hair ; feels not the tender hand which gently 
rests on his shoulder. Does the ring on his finget 
utter no sound ? The delicate hand wears a ring 
like his own. 

Away, away rolled fortune, rolled gold : now 
they come back ; fortune returns ; gold returns ; 


214 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


the round pieces before him grow more and more. 
How eagerly his hand stretches out to sweep them 
in ! In every shining piece of gold is a poisonous 
devil. He who wins gold carries home sin. Thy 
laugh rings not; no clear tone issues from thy 
breast. 

And her poor, poor blue eyes I — what read I 
therein ? What saw she in the mirror ? That which 
caused deeper pain, — the wild, wild joy in his 
eyes ; on his lips demoniacal gladness, which was 
more like mockery. Oh ! far rather would she read 
anger and rage in his features than this triumph 
of evil. And then the hand : is that the dear hand 
which has so often held hers in its gentle pressure, 
— the hand which wears her ring? Thy heart — 
that is hammering away, thou poor, pale woman. 
Only keep quiet, hold out, consume thyself in grief 
as I myself in flame : life is short. It is closer here, 
closer than in the dancing-room ; is it not ? She 
struggles for breath, turns from the picture in the 
mirror ; and her eyes light on one of the gamblers, 
a youth. He is almost a boy, and so weary I so 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


215 


pale ! with hollow cheeks, fever-glow in his deep 
sunken eyes ; and at home, perchance,* a mother^s 
heart praying for him, suffering for him. Oh, how 
sick looks the hand which now offers its last piece 
of gold ! Feebly, his arms crossed, he leans back in 
his chair ; and he, her husband, has taken this last 
piece of gold ! I see her shudder : a fit of trem- 
bling seizes her ; a cry of anguish breaks from her 
breast. Fainting, she falls, and is supported by 
strangers. 

That one shriek forces its way to the gambler’s 
ear : he springs up ; the table totters ; the candle- 
sticks are thrown over ; and I go out.” 

Oh, horrible ! ” sighed the Water-lily ; and the 
young Owl remarked, “ I know some one, a Raven : 
he should have been here to listen.” 

The Frogs croaked loudly in the pond ; the 
Reeds and the Trees, shuddering, stirred ; and on 
the bank, beneath the Maple, a pair of human eyes, 
stretched wide open, were staring into the night. 
Cold drops of anguish stood on a pale youthful 
brow, and heavy sighs burst from an anxious 
breast. 


216 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


The Forest-trees became quiet, and Reeds and 
Grasses stood still again, and listened ; while the 
terrified human heart was yet throbbing violently. 
A new Will-o’-the-wisp was already telling his story 
before the boy was composed enough to listen once 
more. The Light told about a sick child, at whose 
bed it watched : thus it spoke : — 

Oh, I was so weary, so weary ! It was so late 
in the night! and still always, always watching; 
always drinking oil, one little drop after another ; 
and I so weary, so weary I To have watched the 
whole evening, and still to show bright eyes; never 
to drop asleep, not even nod ! The physician 
had been there at a late hour. He sat by the little 
bed, looked at the child, felt it : he told the young 
mother the fever was broken, the crisis was passed ; 
her child would be left to her. She accompanied 
him to the door : now she must think of herself, he 
said to her ; must strengthen her own exhausted 
powers. 

Then he went away, and all was still. A lonely 
young woman knelt at the child’s bed : she raised 


THE WILL-0>-THE-WISPS. 


217 


her folded hands and moistened eyes, — ah, those 
eyes ! — a dumb, ardent prayer of thanksgiving ! 

With a blissful smile she gazed upon the child, 
clasping the little one^s wasted hand, and wiping 
the dew of sleep from the dear pale face. 

It was so late I and the night so still ! and every 
thing was asleep. The sick child slept also, only 
neither I nor the young mother. How pale she 
looked ! how ill ! Her lovely eyes were so dim ! 
— dim with tears and watching. The rich hair, 
uncared for, like a burden she did not wish to feel, 
was drawn from her brow ; her cheeks so small ! 
her fine features so transparent ! the grief which 
was at work within appearing. ^ My child, my 
poor, poor child I ’ she whispered ; and, leaning her 
brow against the bed, she burst into tears, into 
burning, uncontrollable tears. Her figure quivered 
with sobs, and hollow tones of grief burst from her 
breast.’^ 

“ She rejoiced, she rejoiced indeed ! cried the 
Water-lily. Does joy, then, appear thus ? ” 

The little Flame replied, — 


218 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


I was SO weary ! It was so dark ! so dark also 
in her soul ! Perhaps it troubled her to be so alone 
with her great happiness. She had sent away the 
faithful servant: no one should watch with her, 
only I — I was so tired ! I watched, I watched. 

‘‘ The clock ticked on the chimney-piece ; the 
rain trickled monotonously through the gutter; the 
tears of grief were dried. The young mother sat 
on a cushion on the floor, sat and stared before her, 
her hands clasped round her knees. Wagons 
rolled through the street: she raised her head, then 
let it droop as they rattled past. It grew quieter, 
later; wagons rolled no longer; only the watch- 
man’s horn was heard, and now and then a belated 
pedestrian. How the pale woman listened ! Foot- 
falls echoed, echoed so far, on the wet stones, — 
far, far through the night. How she listened I 
Oh ! and when they drew nearer, she sighed 
heavily ; the shadows beneath her eyes grew 
deeper. 

She watched ; and I, so weary, oh 1 so weary, 
watched with her.” 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


219 


“ Of what use are weary watchers ? exclaimed 
a Fire-fly. “ If thou wert so tired and sleepy, why 
didst thou not shut thy little lamp-eyes, and doze ?” 

Should I have left her alone, alone in the dark 
night, with her watching, tear-wet eyes ; with the 
wakeful sorrow in her breast, which likewise 
would not sleep ? Oh ! know’st thou not that light 
shines into the heart ? A spark of light, the glim- 
mer of a little lamp, is a friend in dark sorrows. I 
know thee not, thou sparkling Beetle-boy ! If thou 
ever art a little lamp, and know’st, perchance, an 
anxious heart which mourns lonely in the night, 
and wet eyes which cannot sleep, there mayst thou 
be a friend : then go not away ; go not out ; tarry 
there and comfort, — comfort with mild light, till 
morning^s first beam, which understands how to 
do so better than thou or I, breaks in at the win- 
dow.’’ 

The Fire-fly looked at the little Flame, and was 
silent, as if considering; and the latter, with a 
crackling voice, whispered further, — 

Quiet, quiet night, and quiet soft rain upon the 


220 


THE WILL-0^ -THE- WISP 8, 


pavement. What is the matter with the pale 
mother ? Her boy is asleep. She rises : a flush 
passes over her cheek. There is the sound of a 
man’s step in the street, which she knows well. Oh 
woe the bell I so loud ! so shrill I The mother, 
frightened, looks at the little sleeper, who turns his 
head, and sleeps on. I see her listening at the 
door. She has glided within the thick folds of the 
curtain ; places her hand on the latch, and raises it, 
but does not open the door; she will only listen, 
listen ; her pale, delicate face against the dark 
curtain, now no longer pale. Oh, what a light 
in her lovely, tearful eyes I The house-door has 
creaked: she bends forward, and listens. ’Tis he : 
he speaks, he scolds. Yes, yes : the wagon should 
have come, certainly, certainly ! That she had 
never given it a thought ! Alas ! where are now 
her thoughts ? She hears steps upon the stairs ; 
nearer, in the corridor. The servant goes before 
with the light, whose glimmer falls through the 
crack. Now he will open the door ; now I No, no ? 
They pass along : she hears no questions, not even 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


221 


one. Oh ! she presses her delicate hands against 
her brow, then listens again. He will come back 
immediately ; he will change his damp clothes. It 
is still raining. The door slams : steps are heard 
once more ; only the servant. He goes to rest. 
She has placed her ear at the key-hole, and listens 
still a long time. The night is so still ! the house 
so still ! no step in it, not a foot-fall in the street : 
in the quiet room, only the soft, deep breathing 
of the sick little boy, and the anxious sighs of a 
lonely mother, a lonely wife. She presses the 
latch of the door into its place, walks a few steps, 
then stands still : how rigid she looks ! how white 
her cheeks ! She wrings her hands : ^ He knows 
not, knows not, how things are here ! He does 
not even ask, does not look in.' Then comes 
deep-drawn, loud, difficult breathing : she trem- 
bles violently, and presses her hands against her 
breast. I see her totter a few steps farther : on 
the bed of her child, she falls with a cry of 
woe. Oh ! full of mercy, kind, and friendly was the 
swoon, which took her in its arms, and stilled her 


222 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS, 


sorrows. Women came from a neighboring room, 
and bore the lifeless lady to her couch. Blood 
streamed from her mouth. On her dress, on the 
child's bed, where her head had sunk, there the 
terrified servants saw fresh spots of blood. Oh, 
poor, poor woman ! oh, poor sick child, and poor 
little lamp ! that I must burn, must watch to see 
this ! " 

“Was she, then, dead?" asked the Water-lily. 
“ Oh ! she was not yet dead ? " 

“ What had you now for your weary night- 
watch ? " cried a Fire-fiy : “ not even thanks I " 

“ Oh ! I did not serve for thanks," replied the 
little Flame. “We little Lights serve not for 
thanks or reward: that may great ones do who 
wish to beam, — those who know that they are 
great Lights." 

The Water-lily exclaimed again, “ Oh, say I she 
was not dead?" But the Will-o’-the-wisp had glided 
away and vanished, and could answer no more. 
Many Will-o’-the-wisps had danced on the ghosts’ 
meadow, and had died away ; many had come and 


THE WILL- O'- THE- WISPS. 


223 


told their stories, had sunk into the ground, or 
sprung into the pond ; or they had glided among 
the trees, and disappeared in the forest. Now only 
two little Flames were flickering on the moor ; and 
the Fire-flies flew after them, and brought them to 
the shore ; when, after several words on both sides, 
they agreed to tell what they had been through 
when on the wick, among men. One of them 
began, saying, — 

Through clefts and ravines, along streams and 
deep lakes, over green meadows, and fens lying 
beneath overhanging rocks, far, far from here, 
have I wandered. Dark nights, I am beckoned, 
enticed, and drawn with magical power ; and long- 
ing drives me unceasingly through the land, — 
longing for two deep-blue eyes in which I once 
gazed, when on the wick, during my taper-life : it 
suffers me to And no peace till I see once more 
those dark-blue eyes.” 

Were they human eyes, or flower eyes?” 
asked the Water-lily. 

“ Oh I human eyes, — soul-full, clear, child-like 


224 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


eyes, in the pale face of a young woman, who 
was extremely ill. On cushions, and covered with 
soft wrappings, she rested near an open glass door 
towards the garden. I burned on a small table 
before her: a low candlestick held me. Oh, extraor- 
dinary happiness for tapers to burn in bright 
daylight, surrounded by soft spring air, and to 
look out on the blessed God^s lovely world I The 
brilliant coloring of a southern clime, and the 
glory of sunset, were over land and sea : the jag- 
ged rocky peaks of mountain ranges were shining 
in a purple glow. The south’s genial sun gave 
the hard rocks life-warmth ; but for the invalid, 
whose recovery had been hoped for, it could do no 
other kindness than breathe a little evening red on 
her pale sunken cheeks, and sweet soft air into her 
suffering breast. 

The death-night drew near : the shadows had 
already gathered round mouth and eyes, and ex- 
tinguished all color. Warm life still throbbed in 
her heart, and warm love beamed in her eyes. 

I saw the old servant who had brought me in 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


225 


quietly moving round. She opened the closed 
windows to the evening light. The sun’s rays 
streamed, softened, through the cypresses and 
grape-vines before the windows, and played over 
the colored matting on the floor ; but I liked best 
to see them streaming down over the curly, golden 
locks of a child, who was rolling marbles over the 
floor, and creeping, shouting, after them. 

“ As the old woman placed me on the table, the 
sick lady wrote : now she stopped, resting her 
emaciated, weary hand on the paper, her languid 
head against the back of the chair. The large 
dark-blue eyes followed the child with quiet pleas- 
ure ; and, as the old woman approached to carry 
him away, his mother objected : ‘ Leave him longer 
with me, Bridget,’ implored her sweet voice. ^ He 
is so dear and good ! oh ! he is always good with 
me : the half-hour which the doctor allows cannot 
yet be over.’ But the nurse thought she must 
carry him into the garden : it had been quite too 
hot during the day to do so. 

“ ^ But Walter will give his little hand to his 


16 


226 THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 

mother first/ she said, drawing near the chair with 
the little one. 

Ha I what was that ? ’’ cried the little Flame. 
More lights here ! I must see once I 
“ What is the matter ? What didst thou see 
then ? asked the Reed-blossoms. 

Oh, her deep dark-blue eyes ! the other side of 
the cove, from the tree yonder, they looked at me : 
now I see nothing more.^^ 

We see nothing either,” cried the young Owl. 
Nonsense ! thou dreamest.” 

“ There were tears in them,^^ said the Will-o’-the- 
wisp. “ Wide open, full of grief and anguish, they 
gazed at me.” — “ Thou dreamest, thou dreamest!” 
exclaimed the Reed-blossoms. “ Come ! tell us 
rather what became of the invalid and her child.” 

The boy,” continued the Light, gave his lit- 
tle hand, and offered his rosy mouth for a kiss. 
The sick woman bent down, took the child’s head 
in both hands, pressed her pale face against his 
curly, golden hair; then pushed him quickly ofi*, 
and nodded to the old woman to carry him away. 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


227 


“ She followed them with tearful eyes till they 
were concealed by the garden-bushes ; then, hastily 
taking her pen, she wrote on. I looked over her, 
gazed on the paper, and read every word. I will 
tell you what she wrote : this it was : — 

^ Grieve not for me on account of this trouble. 
Grief for a father’s loss, dear Ulrich, is a whole- 
some sorrow : and, when God took from me my 
first-born, that, too, was a wholesome afiliction; 
though I thought the anguish must break my 
heart. Since then I have known other troubles, 
Ulrich ; but not a word of them ! 

You, dear brother, are now the only heir of 
my jewel, my Walter. I teach him now the word 
father on your account, Ulrich, — the bitter name 
father, which would be a strange word to him for- 
ever, were it not that he must call you so. But 
you will love him ; will you not ? You will be to 
him, Ulrich, what you were to your dear old little 
Hannah, and will love him for my sake and for 
Clement’s sake : is it not so, dear Ulrich ? How- 
ever angry you could be with him, and however 


228 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


great his crime may be, he is still your brother, 
Ulrich : you have known him, and loved him j and 
whoever loved him once — oh ! 

“ ‘ But his son, my little Walter, — his son whom he 
has abandoned, — you mean that he shall be spared 
the grief of hearing of, of knowing him : do you 
not, dear Ulrich ? If there is one ardent wish 
uppermost in my heart, 'tis this : let my child be 
your son in your eyes, in his own, in every one’s. 
You will educate him simply; not as the rich heir 
of Nordingen, but as an industrious, good man. 
You will lead him to the Lord. And Ulrich, dear, 
dear Ulrich, listen to this request: forgive his 
father, forgive him entirely ; let no anger towards 
Clement dwell in a heart that must be a refuge for 
his son ; and if I have forgiven him, who, then, has 
the right to be angry with him ? Implore Grod’s 
mercy on him, Ulrich : he needs it. I implore it ; 
and only still praying do I think of him. I know 
that my tears will weigh heavily against him 
before God’s judgment-throne, and will testify 
against him: therefore I shed no more.’ 


THE WILHO'-THE-WISPS. 


229 


Looking down from my little candlestick, I 
followed every movement of her writing hand ; saw 
her often stop and rest. Then I saw great drops 
roll from her eyes on the last lines: half blot 
them out, and punish the lie. The invalid passed 
her handkerchief across her eyes. She breathed 
with great difficulty ; and, with a trembling hand, 
she wrote still these few words : — 

^ Ulrich, I can no more : my strength is gone. 
Come quickly, come very quickly : I can wait for 
you no longer. My dear beloved brother, may God 
reward you for the faithful love and care you 
have always shown me ! Oh, one day may my son 
have it in his power to thank you ! Pray for me, 
Ulrich, for a calm, departing hour.’ 

She then signed her name, and folded the 
sheet : with my 'burning flame-breath, I helped her 
seal the letter; and, when this was done, she 
caught hold of the pointed little brass hat that 
was hooked on to my small candlestick. I sus- 
pected, woe to me ! that I must die. 

Just then, a clear childish voice cried out, 


230 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


‘ Mamma, dear mamma ! ’ and I saw the little boy 
climbing up the stone steps before the open door. 
He had gathered up his little dress, and filled it 
with pretty pebbles : in his hand was a bunch of 
wild meadow-fiowers ; his cljeeks glowed; his locks 
were blowing in the evening breeze. Yes, the 
young mother forgot to extinguish me. She 
stretched out both arms to the little one ; and the 
old woman raised the child, and placed him on the 
table, before his sick mother ; then she took away 
the candlestick, and blew me out.’’ 

As the Wilbo’-the-wisp, dying, tottered among 
the bushes, from the side where it had vanished, 
there glided over the moor a new, slender Flame : 
burning brightly and very peacefully, it slowly 
passed along the cove. The Fire-flies wished to 
detain it ; but it motioned them back, and, in glid- 
ing by, spoke in a whispering voice, — 

Peace, peace ! ask me nothing I I could tell 
what you would not like to hear. It is the same 
hall, the same clear marble walls, the handsome 
matting on the fioor, the glass door towards the 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


231 


garden tightly closed; every sunbeam and the 
warm May -air shut out. The dark window-cur- 
tains reach the floor, not allowing a ray of light to 
enter ; only the folding-doors leading to the cool 
vestibule are open; the air gently moves the cur- 
tain. It is quiet, quiet : she sleeps, indeed, the 
pale, lovely woman, so calmly, so soundly I She lies 
like marble on her couch, draped in white robes of 
many folds. Two dark tresses are drawn over her 
temples, simple as mourning-bands. I watch near 
her on a high chandelier. It is so quiet! such deep 
peace around ! I hear the little wood-worm boring 
in the carved frame of the mirror ; and the little 
lamp on the chimney-piece, that crackles, and 
sends pungent flames in light clouds through the 
hall. I hear foot-falls in the vestibule, heavy and 
dragging, and the little tripping steps of a child. 
The curtain is drawn aside. Sweet curly-head, 
what wouldst thou here ? She sleeps, she sleeps I 
Wouldst thou see thy pale mother sleeping as 
she never slept before ? Oh, go 1 every one go 
away I She sleeps so quietly, so softly 1 Go ; dis- 


232 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


turb her not, waken her not ! This is a sound, 
deep sleep. 0 peace, peace ! ” and the Flame 
had passed along, and vanished in the forest. 

“ Do you hear the Frogs in the pond ? do you 
hear the little Screech-owl in the thicket? it is 
not well to listen to such sad stories at night 
in the forest,’’ said a Fire-fly ; but the Water-lily 
prayed, “ Oh I let us hear just one story more. 
The little Flame that has hopped round here so 
long among the roots of the trees must tell us 
something ; ” and the little Flame sprang forth 
from the roots of the bare oak-stump, flickered, 
and cried, — 

I am so cold, so cold on the damp moor ! so 
free, so free in the gloomy forest and dark night ! 
oh, bird free ! You cannot fancy hoW a little Light- 
soul often feels. Once it was worth while to fight 
for life. There was one safe little spot, a home, 
where I, with difficulty, prolonged my feeble life 
on the long wick of a wax candle. Then I felt 
bound, chained to poverty : now, indeed, it seems 
to me as if the narrow wax candle and the tough 


THE WILL-(y-THE-WISPS. 


233 


wick were very dear and cosey, and life’s battle fall 
of charm. This boundless freedom alarms me : I 
am afraid of being lost. Who will bring me food? 
I live here, on what ? — are they memories ? ” 

Give us your memories, tell us about your life 
of poverty,” begged the Water-lily and Reed-blos- 
soms. 

I scent morning dew,” said the little Flame. 

The reign of the spirits of night will soon be 
over : so listen, then, to the brief ending of a Wax- 
taper’s life. The key rattles in the lock, and the 
small door in the wainscoted wall flies open. An 
old woman carries me, burning, in her hand : a little 
boy has seized her dress, and cries again and 
again, ^Walter go too in the little room, Walter go 
too ! ’ A dark room, boxes and trunks lying round, 
and an old chest on its great feet stands there ; on 
shelves along the wall, rows of books, bound in 
parchment ; broken vases, within them the dust 
of dead flowers, plucked long ago : the green 
forest here knows not the extraordinary smell of 
dust, and old books, and old furniture in rooms 


234 


THE WILL-(y-THE-WlSP8. 


long closed. There are strange creaking sounds : 
merrily the spiders here spin their webs ; and, un- 
disturbed, the wood-worm learns his trade. And 
the old books — who would wish to listen to them? 
I would have nothing to do with them, — useless 
rabble that have been banished here : among them 
talents greatly admired, quickly forgotten. 

I stand high up on a shelf. The old woman 
kneels on the floor, jingling her great bunch of 
keys, and with difficulty opens a heavy travelling- 
trunk. The cover has many foreign marks, and the 
trunk must have been a long way without its owner. 
What dark things are these which she is taking 
out ? — a man^s clothes, one article after another. 
And, as she unfolds them, there whirr, shadow-like, 
forth on merry wings, the gray, fluttering little 
creatures of decay : having gnawed into that 
which perishes and decays, themselves destroyers, 
and so self-nourishers, they have long been im- 
prisoned there. Now escaping, they flutter forth; 
flee the kingdom of the dead, and seek the living ; 
fly from darkness, and seek light, — light which con- 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


235 


suraes them. They seek the Flame and its burn- 
ing kiss, and by this die. As, whirring, they fly 
round me, they chirp in low, ghost-like tone the 
mournful song learned in darkness, — the song of a 
burning heart which once throbbed beneath those 
clothes ; a burning heart full of passion and sin ; 
a heart gnawed by remorse, and which beats no 
longer. Oh, cease, cease ! let not the child hear 
your songs: a child is innocent.’^ 

“ Unk, unk, unk!” sounded once more loudly 
and fearfully the lamentation in the pond ; but the 
Will-o’-the-wisp heeded it not, and proceeded : — 

“ Where is the child ? Behind the old chest, he 
is seated on the floor, and, having taken from the 
little glass cupboard small china plates and a top, 
is shaking them in a doll’s empty cradle, till, jin- 
gling, they strike together. Soon, growing weary 
of this amusement, he stands by the old woman, 
looking on while she empties the trunk. A packet 
falls out of the clothes; playing-cards are scattered 
over the floor. ^ Oh, pictures, pictures!’ shouts 
the child ; and, gathering the colored cards up in 


^6 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


his little dress, he takes them to a flat box. He 
spreads them out, kneels down, and plays with 
them, chattering and laughing, his cheeks brightly 
flushed, and a happy light in his dark-blue eyes.’’ 

Demons lurk in the colored cards ! ” murmured 
a Forget-me-not. 

Then I hear steps,” continued the Flame ; ^^and 
a tall, grave man stands there. Many lines are on 
his noble brow and round his firm mouth ; many 
silver threads are shining in his dark hair. Sadly 
he gazes at the clothes ; and, perceiving the child, 
asks quickly, ‘ How did the child get those cards, 
Bridget ? ’ The old woman tells him ; and, sighing 
deeply, he steps to the boy, saying, ^ You have not 
bid me good-morning, Walter.’ 

“ ^ Good-morning, dear father,’ replies the child, 
without looking up: ‘just see my beautiful pic- 
tures!’ — ‘The pictures are not yours, Walter,’ 
answers the grave man. ‘ You will give them all 
to father now.’ How startled the child glances up 
at him, covering the cards with both arms ! ‘ Oh, 

see, Bridget!’ I hear the father say: ‘are not those 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


237 


his mother’s eyes?’ And he bends over the child^ 
reaching out his hand, and saying, seriomsly and 
kindly, ‘Give me the picture-cards, Walter!’ 
Anxiously and coaxingly the little one asks, 
‘Wouldn’t you rather have the little top, father?’ 
As the latter replies, ‘No, I wish the pictures 
my child, and at once,’ the boy’s face flushes 
deeply ; his eyes sparkle with anger ; every fea- 
ture of his little face quivers ; and, sobbing con- 
vulsively, with wild passion he throws himself 
upon the cards, screaming, ‘ No, no ! I will not 
give up my pictures, my pictures I ’ 

“ The wicked spirit of defiance was a strange 
guest, I think, in the little boy. The old woman 
stood terrified with folded hands. The man him- 
self had turned very pale ; but he raised the 
shrieking child from the floor, and gave him to 
the woman, bidding her carry him away till he 
was good. Dark clouds were resting on his pallid 
brow as he picked up the cards, and locked them 
away. He took me from the shelf ; and, in so doing, 
a drop of hot wax fell on his hand ; but he did not 


238 


THE WILL-(y-TnE-WISPS. 


shrink. The hand bore a great scar, and had, 
indeed, suffered more burning pain. Heaving a 
deep sigh, he locked the door of the small room, 
and for a long, long time walked up and down his 
chamber before his stern glance fell on me, as I 
stood still burning on a side-table. Then he took 
and extinguished me.’^ 

The little Will-o’-the-wisp melted away in the 
night-air just as it finished speaking. Only far, 
far away, on the farthest edge of the ghosts’ 
meadow, the Fire-flies still saw several little 
Flames dancing ; but they flew after them no 
more, but flitted rather stealthily away, seeking 
their green tent beneath the hazel-bushes on the 
slope. The Owl called to his niece, the young 
Owl, saying, ‘ We must no longer delay if we 
wish to reach a respectable cave to-night. Morn- 
ing already lurks behind the mountains, and makes 
the roads unsafe.’ They flew away ; and the Bat 
heeded the hint it had just received to seek also 
its homeward way. The little Grasses and Weeds 
had already been dozing during the last stories of 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


239 


the Will-oUhe-wisps ; but the poor Water-lily had 
grown very sad at all these melancholy Light- 
histories. Her flower-heart was so full of sympa- 
thy ! much too full to suffer her to sleep. A dear 
little Wave took her weary head in its arms ; and 
so, softly cushioned, she rested, gazing dreamily up 
at the starless sky. And those earnest, blue, child- 
like eyes, which all night, so spirit-like, and burn- 
ing with fever, had stared hither from beneath the 
maple-tree, had closed as the last Will-o’-the-wisp 
finished speaking. Weariness kept them closed ; 
unconsciousness held them in its grasp. Thus had 
it become very quiet in the forest; and quiet it 
remained till the Mountain-cock called from the 
thicket, and Morning sent forward her airy messen- 
gers — the Winds — to cleave on her entrance to 
the valley her path through clouds and mists. 

Many cool breezes had glided over the damp 
brow of the youthful sleeper beneath the maple- 
tree, but had not roused him from his sound sleep. 

As the sun stood on the mountains, cleaving the 
clouds with long-extending beams, and greeting 


240 


THE WILL-0^ -THE-WISPS. 


through the tree-tops the quiet frogs^ pond, so that 
its waters quivered with light, the boy first awoke. 
He rose, and, sitting on the grass, looked round 
with doubt and wonder. There lay the pond, the 
ghosts’ meadow, the green forest behind j all so 
still, so peaceful, unchanged, as he had often seen 
them in earlier days. What change, then, had 
come over him, that he could look upon this green 
solitude only with horror ? No, no ! Away from 
here, among men, to his father! Father? — oh, 
what a word ! He grasped his pale brow, pushed 
the damp hair from his face, and going after his 
straw hat, which had rolled down the slope, he 
came to the very edge of the little cove. There 
the peaceful Water-lily was swimming before him. 
Oh, if it could but speak 1 He bent over the 
water, and with his stick drew the white flower to 
the shore, and wound its long, soft stem round his 
hat, the flower drooping heavily on one side. It 
seemed as if the elfins had adorned the pale, deli- 
cate boy. His dark eyes looked forth so dreamily 
from beneath his tangled locks 1 He took his stick, 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


241 


shivering, buttoned his coat, and, with drooping 
head, walked wearily towards his father’s house. 

Again it was night in the forest, — a dark, moon- 
less night, one of the last in July. But stars were 
sparkling in the skyey vault, and were mirrored, 
slightly quivering, in the peaceful wave of the 
frogs’ pond. Over the moor there lay a thin mist. 
The air was sultry. No rain had fallen for a long 
time ; and the Grasses and Weeds stood thirsty 
with drooping heads, and now would gladly have 
held water, and not complained of hard work : they 
stretched themselves, and tried to catch one little 
draught of night-dew, miserably to prolong their 
little lives. The manoeuvres of St John’s season 
had long been over : many of the insect regiments 
had quitted the forest, and gone into garrison, 
there to receive new uniforms. Fire-flies no 
longer swarmed in the copse on the bank, and in 
the quiet little cove no white Water-lily bloomed. 
The seat on the slope beneath the maple was 
vacant, and the Reeds on the shore had shot up 


16 


242 


TEE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


still higher, and pressed more closely together : 
but the bare old Oak stood still unchanged on the 
small tongue of land ; and its withered arms had 
not grown weary of stretching themselves threaten- 
ingly over the pond. On one of its boughs, the 
young Owl had alighted once more. She, and her 
uncle the old Owl, were returning home from their 
important Italian journey, having given up going to 
Oreece, on account of the disturbances which had 
broken out there ; but in Italy they had collected 
facts enough concerning the nearly extinct poster- 
ity of Minerva’s Owl to employ ten lawyers for 
years in writing documents about them. 

The young Owl had corresponded much upon 
this journey, and had, besides, employed her leisure 
in writing an interesting diary. A very tender 
love-affair with a young Eagle appeared therein ; 
which, however, like many episodes of this sort, 
in diaries published and unpublished, had existed 
rather in the imagination of the authoress than in 
reality. This evening, as Uncle Owl wished to 
visit, in the pavilion of the old manor-house at 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


243 


Nordingen, a friend of his youth whom he had 
not seen for a long time, his high-born niece took 
the opportunity to make an excursion to the 
frogs^ pond. 

She thought it well to allow the Water-lily, and 
other simple children of the quiet forest, to profit 
by the higher and broader views of the world 
which she had gained by travelling. 

Fraulein Owl found, however, that four weeks 
were a long time, and many things could change 
in the outward circumstances of Flowers, Fire-flies, 
and Blackberry-vines. She sat on the Oak-bough, 
and looked round in vain for the acquaintances 
made that holiday eve. 

“ Must it be even more tedious here now than 
it was at that time ? she sighed to herself ; then 
asked aloud, Is there no one here who can tell 
me what has become of the young Water-lily 
which was blooming here in the little cove ? 

At first, there was no answer to this question. 
All was still ; but the waters in the cove rippled, 
and a little Wave swam to the tongue of land, 


244 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


forcing its way through the gnarled roots of the old 
Oak which projected into the water, and whispered 
softly, — 

I know about her, know about her ! She has 
gone away ; gone away with a young traveller, — 
young, young traveller.^^ 

“ What,^^ screamed the Owl, greatly excited, 
gone away with a young traveller ? 'Is this fit- 
ting behavior for a quiet white flower, that seemed 
so innocent, showing only humility and tender 
feeling ? 

The little wave then related every thing that 
had happened ; that she had held the white flower 
in her arm to the very last, and bedewed it with 
tears, as the boy had torn it away, dragging it out 
of the water, and carrying it off on his hat. 

But the Owl wished to hear no more about it, — 
she was quite too angry, — and turned towards the 
ghosts’ meadow, where a lonely Will-o’-the-wisp 
had just commenced its extraordinary dance. 

There comes endurable company,” said she, 
beginning to flutter and bow, and let her shining 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


245 


eyes flash, till she attracted the attention of the 
Will-o’-the-wisp, that drew nearer. 

I have seen Will-o’-the-wisps here before,” said 
the young Owl, “ that had gone through all sorts 
of things, and could tell stories. Are you also the 
soul of an extinguished Light? and can you tell 
stories too ?” 

The soul of a Light am I also,” replied the Will- 
o’-the-wisp. I can relate no stories only what I 
myself have experienced : this you can hear j but I 
think ’tis nought to you j yet it may be. I see the 
Eeed-blossoms are bending this way, wishing to 
listen also. 

Very little have I seen of the world, or of 
men : I came to life too soon, and did not shine as 
I should have done. They were wrinkled old 
hands which lighted me, — hands which, in their 
long life, unweariedly, faithfully labored ; were 
often folded in prayer : this could be read in the 
furrowed face ; in the honest, truthful eyes which 
looked down upon me. Long years, and the sor- 
rows of long years, had here engraved their 


246 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


wrinkled writing; the clear eyes had wept much. 
What wonder, then, that they had grown dim, and 
that the old woman lighted me while the sun was 
yet standing on the mountains? The light of the 
evening sky was still shining in the room as she 
placed me on the table ; and therefore she screwed 
me so firmly to my wick, that I could neither 
flicker nor stand up straight. 

^‘Stooping, I stood beneath the green shade of 
the study-lamp, and listened. The old woman had 
gone out : it was not time to look at the books and 
papers on the table (I must do this in company 
with the master of the room); so I sufi'ered my 
glances to wander round. 

A comfortable, spacious apartment ; many book- 
cases along the walls, also many paintings, many 
family pictures. It detains one much to look at 
pictures : J will not show them to thee first, even if 
the sweet blue eyes in a lady’s lovely face are 
already known to thee, thou wise travelled bird. 
The large bow-window stands wide open : I see the 
garden-trees, field and forest, the mountains, and, 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


247 


beyond, floating red evening-clouds edged with 
light. Long since, the old Ivy outside had climbed 
to the window, and framed its broad arch in a dark- 
green wreath. The Evening-wind waves the 
young tendrils; and on the window-seat, in the 
midst of the green labyrinth, sits a slender boy 
with brown curly hair. Although the mountains 
are shining in the evening light, the boy does not 
look out : his head rests on the breast of the tall, 
dark man who stands before him, clasping him in 
his arms. They speak together in a low voice. 
I listen, and hear plaintive tones, sad groans, trem- 
bling, broken words, from a choking breast. Which 
is more moved, the youth or the grave man ? 
Which is paler ? There is a whispered confession 
of guilt. ‘ What have you done wrong, poor boy?’ 
Only a great sin could affect this strong man so 
deeply. ‘ What is this that you have done ? — only, 
once ? Played ?' Have you played ? Yes 1 You 
promised your father solemnly never to touch a 
card ; and have you broken your vow ? ’ 

‘‘ I saw the boy raise his dark, tearful eyes to his 


248 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


father : ^ Father, father, you surely believe that it 
was this once, only this once ^ I believe you 
my son,’ he replied, ^ I believe you : it would be 
dreadful if I could not believe you.’ The boy 
whispered, ‘ Oh ! do not look at me so, father. Your 
eyes do not look as if you believed me and had for- 
given me.’ The answer sounded solemn and 
earnest, ^ I believe you, and I forgive you your 
first great ofience ; but it has grieved me bitterly, 
Walter!’ — ^0 father, I am so glad I have told 
you I ’ And then he related that yesterday he 
had run off*, and hastened up the mountain in a 
pouring rain, merely because the other boys were 
playing cards, and he feared he might be induced 
to break his vow again. 

“ ‘ I thank God, who gave you power to fly,’ said 
his father. The boy seized his hand, and pressed it 
to his lips. ^ 0 dear, dear father I ’ he cried gently, 
and stared, with a strange look, upon the hand, and 
on an old scar often seen upon this hand. 

“ ^ How deathly pale you look, poor boy ! ’ I heard 
his father ask, ^ Walter, are you not sick ? ’ — ^ I don’t 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


249 


know, father/ he replied. * My head aches very 
badly ; but I have so much to think about ! Oh, if I 
could only tell you what the Will-o’-the-wisps said 
in the forest ! ’ The father laid his hand upon the 
child’s brow. ^ You are very hot, my son : the damp 
night in the forest has done you no good.’ The 
old woman came : terrified, she cried, ^ Oh, how he 
looks ! He is surely sick ; has fever : I thought so 
at once.’ 

^ I am only cold,’ whispered the boy, and 
laid his head again on his father’s shoulder. ^ Oh 
the forest, the forest ! Oh, could I tell you what I 
have been through there, ask you, father I ’ — 
^ What ? ’ said the grave man softly. ^ I would 
ask, ask, father, and I could not bear the answer ; ’ 
and suddenly he raised his head, and looked into 
his father’s face with great staring eyes. ^ If I 
ask you now if you really, really are my father ? 
No, no ! don’t speak.’ He laid both hands implor- 
ingly on the mouth of the man, who had turned 
very pale. ^ I am sick indeed : I can hear nothing. 
Come, Bridget,’ he said like a child, stretching out 


250 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


his hand to her ; ‘ come and carry your little 
Walter to bed/ They went : the master of the 
house took the lamp, and followed. In the door- 
way, the draught blew me out.” 

The Will-o’-the-wisp had vanished, the Reeds 
rustled, the Frogs croaked in the pond, and the 
young Owl considered whether she should fly to 
the manor-house to call for Uncle Owl : then once 
more, far away in the forest, she saw a light flash- 
ing high and full. Over the moor it tottered, 
nearer and nearer. * 

“ Stand, Will-o’-the-wisp, stand ! ” cried the Owl, 
as it drew close to the water ; and she feared it 
might rush in, and be extinguished. Will-o’- 
the-wisp, Will-o’-the-wisp, indeed ! ” it answered ; 

lately a proud Torch, now a miserable Will-o’-the- 
wisp on a bewitched moor I ” 

“ Lately a Torch j how happened that ? ” 
demanded the Owl. 

“Wouldst thou hear how that happened? canst 
thou hear? art thou strong?” 

Oh, I — I can hear any thing I ” replied the Owl. 


THE WILL- O’. THE- WISPS. 


251 


^^But is it worth the trouble to tell thee any 
thing? asked the Flame again. “Hast thou a 
heart ? and is there any feeling in it ? 

The little Owl pretended to be aggrieved ; but 
the Ivy called over the water, — 

“ Relate, dear Light, what you have been through, 
whatever it may be. Indeed I am not strong, but I 
cling fast ; and this is the way in which We feeble 
ones long remain upright, and can bear much, 
very much. Leave the question to me whether a 
feeling heart listens to you. A slight word, so 
easily breathed, seems so very weak ; but who 
knows its secret working ? What I catch I hold 
fast : therefore men trust my evergreen leaves, and 
have consecrated me to memory. While old half- 
ruined Walls speak of times that are past, there I 
like to be, and will preserve your history faithfully 
also, and repeat the best part of it to men. Be 
true, be constant, be steadfast ! 

“ Good ; listen, then, listen ! cried the Will-o^-the- 
wisp. “ The pinions of many birds that soared on 
powerful wing have been broken; many trees 


252 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


which bore their green crowns gayly and proudly 
have fallen. The old Elms are still standing in the 
park : they whisper in the warm Night-air, — 

« < Why do you disturb us ? why do you waken 
us from our deep dreams at midnight — at mid- 
night— with bright lights? What is moving, whis- 
pering, scratching, in the old walls ? For whom 
are candles shining ? for whom are these fragrant 
flowers ? The halls are desolate ; the former 
owners dead ; the heir is far away ; yes, desolate, 
dead, and far away ! ^ Thus whisper the Elms in 
the gloomy park ; and the bright windows beam far 
through the night. The hall-door on the terrace 
stands hospitably open; wreaths of flowers are 
wound round the portal ; and flowers are strewn on 
the stone steps of the old manor-house of Nordin- 
gen.’^ 

Wast thou there ? wast thou in the manor- 
house of Nordingen ? asked the Owl. 

Not yet, not yet ! ’’ replied the Will-o’-the-wisp. 

In the vaUey, in the flower-garden : the small old 
house has no bright windows. The Nut-trees 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


253 


stretch their branches over it : the Ivy clasps it on 
all sides ; this is its dark, faithful friend. Twelve 
Torches are waiting before the door ; twelve young 
men from the valley are torch-bearers : that one 
bright Torch am I, all so clear, so shining ! — and 
night all around, and the house so dark ! Behind 
the bow-window in the corner a dim light is glim- 
mering. The dark Ivy-vines strike gently against 
the panes. Tell us what you see within ; what 
have you seen the last few weeks ? The tendrils 
wave to and fro, and say with signs, ^ Ask not, ask 
not.^ Now the door opens: a coffin is brought 
out, borne by grave gray-haired men, fathers of 
families from Nordingen, who have asked the favor 
of bearing this coffin ; and behind the coffin, a 
tall, pale man, in the black dress of a priest, de- 
scends the steps : an old woman, very much bowed 
descends also. I hear his voice, ‘ Come here, 
Bridget ; lean on me : it is too much for you alone.^ 
And the old woman lays her trembling arm in his, 
looking up at him with admiration through her 


tears. 


254 


THE WILL-O’-THE-WISPS. 


“ The night is still and gloomy ; the startled J ack- 
daws flutter round the dark gable ; the Water runs 
monotonously from the old brook, sadly splashing 
in the broad basin. 

“ Thus moves the procession : in front, and on 
the sides, torch-bearers ; then the coffin ; and, 
close behind, the dark forms of the mourners. 
The shadows of night scatter, terrified, where wild, 
streaming torchlight flashes, but not the mourn- 
ing shadows on the pale faces. Through the 
meadow-land, where the willows grow, over the 
brook’s stone bridge, along the edge of the forest, 
are we, bright torches and dark coffin, borne. 
We throw dazzling lights into the gloomy forest. 
Lizards inquisitively come near : I see two young 
Does stand peering through the bushes. Once 
more we cross the brook on the weather-worn 
bridge of birch-logs, at the small back gate of the 
park. A gentle breeze stirs the Lindens and Plane- 
trees : solemnly rustling, their tops salute as the 
procession moves along the shade avenues. In 
the distance, the Mansion salutes with brilliant 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


255 


lights ; the Elms salute with waving, whispering 
gloom. 

On the terraces are the servants of the house, 
and many inhabitants of the valley : silently they 
bow their heads as the coffin is borne over the 
stone steps through the open door. The torch- 
bearers remain on the steps, and we with them. 

Within the hall, I saw the coffin placed on a 
platform which was covered with flowers, leaves, 
and the faithful Ivy from the provost’s house. I 
saw the tall man in a clergyman’s dress approach, 
and support himself upon the coffin. He breathed 
with so much difficulty, as if he bore a burden 
which oppressed him. Tears and grief on all the 
faces round; only not on the wonderfully lovely 
countenance of a maiden in a white dress, which, 
in a broad frame, looked down from the wall. Corn- 
flowers adorned her brown tresses, and sweet 
child-like joy shone in her dark-blue eyes. I saw 
also that from this picture a long piece of mourn- 
ing crape streamed down, and that a wreath of 
white mallows had been suspended above it. 


256 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


The doors closed. The manor-house of Nordin- 
gen had received its last heir : he had entered in a 
coflSn, in the early morning, to be borne from 
these old walls on his last earthly journey to the 
God’s-acre where his grandparents rest. . 

We Torches had performed our mourning ser- 
vice, and were extinguished.” 

“ What has become of your sisters ? ” asked the 
young Owl. 

But the Will-o’-the-wisp answered not, only 
floated slowly back over the ghosts’ meadow. It 
seemed indeed to the Owl, that far, far away, where 
great oaks again overshadowed the moor, other 
little Flames were tottering round; but it was 
too far for her to distinguish any thing distinctly, 
and they came no nearer. Then she took a sudden 
resolution, spread her little wings, and without a 
word of farewell to the patient old Oak, or the 
friendly little Wave at its foot, flew towards the 
mountains ; while through the Ivy-leaves glided a 
gentle whisper. 

As Morning sent her first shining beam into 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


257 


the valley, there stood the Forest, green and dewy, 
to salute her. The Tree-tops stirred, and a myste- 
rious rustling passed through all their branches. 
The wild Duck, which had built its cool summer- 
house among the rushes on the shore, led its 
brood of little ones forth on the pond, to begin 
the day with a swimming-lesson. The Reed-blos- 
soms nodded to each other their morning greeting, 

. and were astonished to find, that, on the green 
spot beneath the Maple on the slope, there had 
bloomed over night a beautiful dark Blue-bell on 
a tall slender stalk, of which yesterday they had 
seen neither leaf nor bud. Again the Frogs 
croaked loudly in the pond ; and the little Church 
of Nordingen called in its loudest voice, its bells 
pealing several times through the valley, monoto- 
nously and sadly, like the wail of ocean-waves, 
when, after a wild, stormy night, they cast wrecks 
and corpses on the shore ; yet sacred and divine 
as ocean-waves also, from the little old church, 
funeral-bells rang out on the morning air. 

As the sound of the last died away, there was a 


17 


258 


THE WILL- O’- THE- WISPS. 


rustling in the bushes, at the forest-clearing half- 
way up the mountain ; and with rapid, vigorous 
strides, a youthful traveller stepped forth on the 
projecting mountain-ridge. The boy’s light hair 
was bowing in the morning breeze, his cheeks 
glowing with joyful excitement. He looked round ; 
and the light in his eyes shone no longer so 
briglitly ; it was clouded by a little dust of disap- 
pointment : but he took off his light hat, passed 
his handkerchief over his heated brow, laid staff 
and bag aside, and lay down to Wait. The sun 
was shining too hot upon the rocks for him to lie 
quiet long. The pleasure which was to bring one 
here from the valley could not be so great, after 
all. He sprang up, looked down into the valley, 
descended a short distance, and returned, clam- 
bering up on all the rocks round to get a wider 
view, his heart beating more restlessly, his .face 
growing sadder, the oftener he drew out his watch. 

But now, two dark points yonder on the line 
winding among the corn-fields, that must be the 
path which leads up here ; and those dark objects, 


THE WILL-O'-THE-WISPS. 


259 


Walter and his father. They drew nearer, turned 
to the left : what did this mean ? Oh, no ! they 
were two tard}'- reapers who were on their way to 
their harvest- work. Yes: it was harvest-time ; and 
the poor boy did not consider that God reaps his 
harvest every day, and can also mow green ears of 
corn. There was the sound of a postboy’s horn, 
oh, already, already ! He took his hat, light staff, 
and bag, and with drooping head walked slowly 
back into the forest. 

Tlie sun rose higher and higher : on the lonely 
mountain-ridge, the pale grass-blades trembled in 
the hot air. In the forest, now and then, a fir-cone 
dropped, and a lizard rustled through the foliage. 
The valley lay still and peaceful beneath green 
tree-tops and golden grain : no sound reached this 
quiet spot ; but far above, in the blue air, a little 
lark soared rejoicing, rejoicing. 


Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery, Coruhill, Boston. 


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